Farewell
by Saenda
Summary: Paris, 1833. A young man with no memories, aside from the name Yuri, is found near death and taken in by the renowned pianist Frederic Flynn Chopin. By then, a thorough search for his lost memories is initiated, but maybe the answer lies closer than he would have believed. Flynn/Yuri, rated M for later chapters.
1. First movement

**A/N: **Hey guys! I'm glad to finally publish my first Vesperia fanfiction -w- It took me quite some time to get to this, because I'm so busy with school, work and work, and work, and work... At least, now I'm in vacation from school, so that leaves me a little more time xD Anyway, I won't leave you hanging anymore. I'll write more at the end ;p

**Warnings****:** Of course, this is a _yaoi_ fanfiction, meaning boys X boys. If you're uncomfortable with this, there's this little button at the upper left that is called "back". Kindly push it owo It's also rated M for later chapters, so if you're uncomfortable with that as well, the same applies to you xD

**Disclaimers: **The characters belonging to Namco belongs, of course, to Namco.

This is also not a betaed work, so I'm sorry for any mistakes that you might find. English is not my first language after all. Well, I'm really stopping now. Enjoy!

* * *

**Farewell**

**First movement**

It was late at night in Paris' streets. The stars and moon in the dark sky were hidden by grey clouds threatening to empty their contents any time soon. A storm was expected. Street lights were illuminating the cobblestone on which a man was slowly walking, or rather, staggering. His whole body was covered with bruises which he tried to ignore as he stepped forward, clinging to the wall next to him. His breathing was coming in shallow puffs that could be seen in steam because of the crisp cold of the night. His free arm was wrapped around his chest to try and keep some warmth, but he failed miserably considering how he shivered violently. His eyes were half opened even if he fought as hard as he could not to fall asleep. Strands of his long dark hair were stuck to his forehead and cheeks, but he dared not move any of his arms to get them out of the way in fear of losing the little balance he had.

Despite his precautions, the man soon collapsed on the ground, his legs giving in on their own accord. He was so weak; it felt like he had not eaten in days. He attempted to stand again, but every parcel of his body protested loudly and prevented him from moving any more. The long haired man whimpered in both pain and frustration. However, he could do nothing anymore but to sit back against the wall he used as support until now. Through his half-closed eyelids, he could see the many passers-by who ignored him all this time even if it was obvious he needed help. The man cursed them all, cursed them for their selfishness. He guessed they were all rich bastards that did not want anything to do with him. Besides, he was in such a mess that he must look frightening. Who would associate with a man covered in dried blood and bruises when he could be a criminal?

The wounded closed his eyes slowly and let his head fall backward so that it could lie against the wall. Somehow, he swore he could hear the faint sound of a piano resonating far away. It sounded beautiful, something he would wish to hear over and over again. Was he dreaming? Was it a trick of his imagination? Maybe it was the music played in heaven, luring him. At that thought, his mind reminded him that he should wake up, and the man tried to open his eyes again. However, his eyelids were too heavy and his head was filled with such warm and comforting cotton that the thought of sleeping was very welcomed. He did try to come back to his senses from time to time, and so at some point, he thought he saw feet coming in his direction through his blurry vision. And as he went back to sleep, he again believed his imagination was playing him when his name was called. This was just impossible.

* * *

Consciousness slowly came back to him, but he did not dare open his eyes yet. He was so comfortable, lying on something so soft and cosy that he truly did wonder if he was in heaven. For now, though, he wanted to rave about this blissful feeling that he was sure he had not known in his life before. He would open his eyes later. Maybe he could go back to sleep? He had all the time in the world anyway, since he was dead.

Soon, however, the sound of a piano filled his ears. He could tell that this was not the same melody which had played the last time, but the style felt the same: gentle, nostalgic and full of depth. This meant he had truly heard the instrument the first time and that it had not been a figment of his imagination. Curious, the dark haired man decided to crack an eye open, and then a second.

He was met by the sight of a high wooden ceiling. Frowning slightly, he turned his head to his right side and saw that he was in a room with light blue walls. A frieze of different curly designs bordered the ceiling and extended into fancy beams in each corner of the walls. His eyes landed on an opened window. The light emanating from it blinded him briefly and he raised his arm to protect his eyes as he wondered if he truly was in heaven. That was when he spotted the white bandages covering parts of his hand as well as the sleeve of a silky blue pyjama. He also heard the ruffle of sheets and his irises moved to the direction of the noise. He realised that what he had found so comfortable was actually a wide king size bed he was lying into. A thick elegant embroidered cover of oriental patterns above white sheets was covering him and keeping him warm.

As much as the bandages should have been a sign for him to understand that he was not in heaven, his surroundings felt too surreal for him to think otherwise. Everything was too neat and perfect to be human made. To his left, further in the back was a hearth where a fire was softly burning, spreading warmth. Next to it was a cozy looking armchair of a golden hue. On the wall adjacent was a bookcase filled with books of various lengths. There were paintings of landscapes adorning the blue facade and, beside the bed stood a nightstand. The man's eyes landed last on the lamp as well as the few papers stacked neatly above the small furniture.

Now that his inspection was over and that he had marvelled at the sheer beauty of the room, the melody playing that he forgot reached his ears once more. The curiosity he felt earlier hit him back with full force and the need to see the pianist made itself present. If he was in heaven, would it be an angel? He both hoped for a yes and a no; yes because he was curious of gazing at such a perfect being, and no because it really meant he was dead. He had no real place in heaven. He should be someplace else instead of staining this beautiful and calming world.

The dark haired man stood up slowly, barely feeling any of the pain he had when he supposedly died. He listened intently to the instrument in order to pick up the direction he should follow. His steps guided him outside the bedroom. The music, contrary to the last time, was more joyful and perky. Many notes were hit in precision and ease, giving depth to the music and the impression of carefreeness. He could almost feel like the melody was jumping.

As he crossed the door, the man looked to his left, then to his right. The last direction seemed to be the correct one, so his feet took off to the right. His surroundings still felt too surreal and were as richly decorated as the room he had been in instants ago. He was just a bit surprised that no one else was around except for the person playing and himself. Such an elegant place was bound to have many people roaming around, right? Especially in heaven. Surely there was more than one angel.

He moved forward in the hallway and the melody became louder with each step he took. He went past a door or two before he finally reached one that was breached open. The music was coming from inside, so he slowly pushed on the last obstacle separating them. His eyes were immediately attracted to the form sitting on the bench of the instrument instead of taking the time to observe the warm red walls and bronze mouldings on the edges of the floor and ceiling. He barely noticed the desk covered in sheets of paper accompanied by a bottle of ink at the corner next to the piano.

What he truly saw was blond golden short hair that looked so very soft to the touch, as well as the arms and body clothed in an indigo long sleeved coat which reached the floor. They moved with grace along with the melody playing. The dark haired man was mesmerized by the precision with which the other person played, his fingers running along the keys so quickly. He stayed at the door for some time, unable to move because of the sheer admiration he felt and the shivers that ran down his spine. This could be nothing but an angel, he had no doubts anymore. And yet, this sight was not enough. He wanted to at least gaze at the other's face, see how beautiful that angel was. The mere thought pulled him. His feet moved forward of their own accord.

He reached the piano in a few silent strides. However, instead of peering at the other discreetly while still standing, as anyone should have done to not bother the pianist, he sat on the bench next to the musician. Besides, angels were perfect beings; the blonde would most definitely not be distracted by him. He was right, because if the other noticed the newcomer's presence, he did not show it. Instead, he kept playing as if he was alone. This left the dark haired man the chance to observe the pianist. His face was wearing a concentrated and serious expression, but his eyes were gleaming in pure delight. The long haired man realised that the blonde's back he had contemplated earlier was nothing compared to those pools of endless sapphire. They were breathtaking and bewitching, leaving him unable to stare away. His features were the very description of perfect. This place was most definitely heaven.

"You're awake," the angel finally spoke up, acknowledging his presence, startling him out of his daze. "How are you feeling?"

His eyes never left the keys on which his fingers played with ease, jumping and twirling. The dark haired man found that he too could not stare away from those long and slender hands, leaving him unable to reply. Thankfully, the pianist soon hit the last notes, keeping his fingers on the keys for a few seconds before removing them from the piano to lay them on his lap. Because he had not received an answer yet, the musician tilted his head to finally stare straight at the other, a small smile on his lips.

"Are you alright?" he asked again, softly.

Finally, the dark haired man came back to reality and shook his head violently to put some sense into him. He was in front of an angel; he could not afford to look like an idiot!

"I'm fine. I feel more than fine." He raised his hands higher so he could look at the bandages and frowned. "I'm a bit surprised I would need these in heaven, though. It's not like I feel any pain."

The blonde blinked one, two, three times before he burst in laughter. The other raised an eyebrow in incomprehension, wondering what could be so funny. He... he was in heaven, right? The pianist was too perfect to be human, after all, from the way he played to the way he looked. It was the very definition of beauty.

"What's so funny?" he whined, hoping very much he was not the source of the laughter.

"I-I'm sorry, it's just that we're not in heaven. I'm afraid that you are still quite alive," the blonde informed the other, wiping tears that formed in the corner of his eyes for he laughed too much.

Eyes widened and cheeks reddened violently before the dark haired man's hand rubbed his neck in nervousness. How could he have been so stupid to believe he was dead? Signs had been everywhere: the bandages, the house, the light from the window, the blonde man himself – he had no wings, after all. However, everything felt too surreal that he could not believe otherwise. He sighed softly.

"And to say that I was ready to believe you were an angel. Too bad!" he blurted out shamelessly, gripping the edge of the bench behind his back, looking up at the wooden ceiling.

He glanced at the pianist and saw that a blush now crept up on his cheeks, making the former smirk lightly. He just found out that teasing the blonde could be quite fun.

"Anyway, what's your name?"

He missed the glint of surprise and disappointment in the pianist's eyes at his question as he looked back at the piano. It looked new and was made in a soft brown veneer wood that appeared smooth to the touch. The lid was open, revealing a complicated system of chords and little hammers. Sheets of music were displayed on the lectern integrated to the piano; surely their content was the melody the blonde played earlier. Everything seemed to be handwritten and the dark haired man wondered if it was the pianist who had composed the music.

"I'm Frederic Flynn Chopin," the other replied and the long haired man gazed once more at his host.

Somehow, the name felt familiar, as if he should know it, but he had no idea where he heard it before – not that he could know anyway. He watched the blonde gaze at him expectantly, as though he wanted for the long haired man to remember. The latter immediately found it weird, but decided to ignore it and labelled it as a figment of his imagination.

"I'm Yuri," he offered his own name. This time, he did see the disappointment in the other's blue irises, but it was gone in the blink of an eye.

"Yuri? Is that all?" Frederic asked, frowning slightly. "Usually, people give a surname when presenting themselves."

Yuri shrugged nonchalantly, though deep down, he felt rather uncomfortable by the subject. "As much as I'd like to, I can't. The only two things I can remember are this name and waking up covered in wounds with barely the strength to walk."

Indeed, he had no memories whatsoever of anything before that. It was unnerving, mostly now that he could ponder about it. Who was he exactly? Where did he come from? How did he end up hurt? These were a few of the many questions that roamed around in his mind. It was scary.

He avoided staring at the blonde while he explained his situation for fear to see pity in the other's eyes. God knew that it would be the worst expression to see. He hated being pitied; it made him feel worthless, as though he were lower than everybody else. However, when he did look back at the pianist, he was surprised to notice genuine sadness instead of what he was expecting. The blonde was sympathizing with his state, not looking down on him. Yuri was grateful, merely for this much. It made him feel like they were equals.

"How about Lowell, then?" the musician voiced out, snapping the dark haired man out of his thoughts. The latter raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding what the other was getting at. "Your surname. How about Lowell?" the blonde explained with a smile.

Yuri Lowell? This sounded so very right, as though it could truly be his entire name. Somehow, it felt as familiar as when he heard his host's name earlier, if not more. But this could not really be his surname, now, could it? There was no way the pianist knew him and what were the odds of hitting the right name? No, his real identity was surely something else. Still, he could not help but to keep that little nagging doubt in a corner of his mind.

"It sounds great! Thanks, Flynn!" Yuri grinned sheepishly.

The blonde chuckled. "You're welcome... wait..." his eyes widened slightly in consternation. "Flynn?" he asked very softly with a weird face, as though he was undecided whether he liked the way he was addressed or not. Yuri shrugged casually, a smirk tugging the corner of his lips.

"Yeah, well, saying Frederic Flynn feels way too long, and Frederic just doesn't have any punch. I like Flynn much better," was the long haired man's reply.

For another short moment, there was no reaction out of the blonde, but soon, laughter erupted and he doubled over, holding his stomach because he was guffawing so much. Yuri started, not expecting that kind of reaction out of his new friend. What the heck could be so funny?

"The hell?" he exclaimed, so very confused. "What did I say again?" He scrunched his nose, displeased. Flynn better not be making fun of him again or he would make sure to smack his pretty head very hard.

The pianist tried to reply a few times, but he just could not, each time ending up laughing harder. After a while, he finally calmed down, the need to breathe soon becoming a necessity. His cheeks were flushed with delight and his eyes were gleaming so brightly, Yuri found himself mesmerized by them once more. He was not ashamed to think that they were certainly the prettiest eyes he had ever seen – even if he did not remember any other eyes, he was still sure that Flynn's were besting them all.

"I'm sorry, Yuri," Flynn apologized, wiping away the tears that welled up in his eyes and gently fell down his cheeks. "I was not laughing at you, don't worry. It's just that you reminded me of someone I once knew and the way you said all that was completely the same. That was utterly perfect." The blonde chuckled again, but it was evident he would not lose control a second time. The dark haired man pouted cutely.

"I still don't understand how this could be funny, but oh well," he muttered before he stood up from the bench, wanting to take a better look at the room, something he had not done when he had entered.

Not too far from the piano was a low table with a few cushioned chairs of a creamy colour around it and a sofa of the same color not too far to the side. Yuri moved forward on the soft beige carpet and sat down on one of the chairs, stretching his legs on the table, ignoring the disapproving look he received from Flynn. His eyes turned to a glassed door leading to a balcony, which allowed viewing the scenery of Paris. He noticed for the first time today that grey clouds loomed over the city, rain threatening to fall any time. Rich cream velvet curtains adorned each side of the door and were attached by crimson ropes. There were a few bookcases on the opposite side and were stacked with as many books as in the bedroom. Paintings decorated the walls here as well and a hearth also had a place at the far end of the room from where Yuri was sitting. There were a few candles here and there, notably on the piano and on the desk beside it.

Yep, this was most definitely the house of a comfortable middle class person and Yuri liked it.

"Yuri, would you mind removing your feet from the table, please? It's not sanitary," Flynn demanded, eyes still boring at the long haired man reprovingly. Seeing an opportunity to drive the pianist crazy, Yuri smirked as he moved his hands behind his head, making himself even _more_ at ease.

"Make me," he taunted, sure that the other would abandon there.

A winning smile graced his lips as he saw the blonde first scowl, then sigh in resignation. It however lost some of its depth when Flynn stood up and dusted his clothes before he strode in Yuri's direction with a neutral expression on his face. He stopped once he arrived next to the long haired man and removed one of his shoes. All the while, Yuri stared at the pianist as though he were crazy. What the hell was he doing?

"If I must," Flynn told, surely as an answer to the other's previous taunt.

Before the latter could react, the musician quickly raised his leg and kicked the side of the chair, sending it crashing on the ground with Yuri along with it. The dark haired man yelped in both shock and fright as he flailed his arms in the vain attempts of keeping his balance before oofing in pain once he collided with the chair on the floor. It took him a few seconds to open his eyes and wince in pain. He looked over at Flynn who was now casually putting his shoe back on and throwing him a mocking sideway glance. Yuri grinned playfully, feeling challenged.

"So that's how you want to play it?"

He jumped back on his feet and reached for the blonde with his fist. Understanding what the other was getting at, Flynn ducked the hit and leaned down before quickly coming up under Yuri, lifting the latter on top of his shoulder, his hand resting on the hollow of the fighter's knees to keep him balanced.

"Yuri, we're not brawling in here!" Flynn stated in reproach as he threw the extra weight on the sofa and placed a foot on its chest to make sure it would not move. The dark haired man pouted and crossed his arms, not pleased by the turn out of events when he had been looking for a fight.

"Why not?" he whined childishly. The blonde pinched the bridge of his nose in discouragement, rolling his eyes.

"In case you haven't noticed, we're in my study. The place where I work. The place where I store my piano. And, quite frankly, I'd like to keep that much intact, thank you very much."

Yuri huffed in annoyance, but did not argue. He knew that Flynn was right. There was a high risk of breaking something of value and he far from wanted that. The pianist had already been kind enough to take him in and treat his wounds, after all. What kind of ungrateful man would he be if he broke things that did not belong to him?

Speaking of which, they did not really finish the conversation they began earlier. "Hey, by the way," he started while sitting up after Flynn removed his foot. "Why Lowell, exactly? I'm sure there's a wide range of surnames, so why this one?" The musician sat next to him and tilted his head to the side, doubt suddenly covering his features.

"You don't like it?" He sounded almost miserable and Yuri wondered why his heart suddenly stopped at the sound and why he felt so flustered. He attempted to hide it all by looking away and clearing his throat.

"That's not what I said! I told you earlier that it sounded great, didn't I? Sheesh, do you even listen when other people speak?" Yuri chastised and, when he felt his cheeks had regained a normal colour, managed to give a genuine smile to his friend. "I'm just wondering, that's all there is to it."

Flynn nodded, answering the smile. "Your first name inspired me. If I remember correctly, Yuri is Russian. I wanted to think of a Russian surname to fit it and since I barely know any, that's the one I came up with[1]."

At this explication, Yuri's face became thoughtful. He leaned his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his hands as he pondered on Flynn's words. They were giving him a trail about his past. Well... that was _if_ his name really was Yuri. He had woken up with the name in his memories, but that did not really mean it was his.

"I guess my best bet would be to start there, then. I just need to figure out how to get there and where exactly I should go first, but I'm sure I'll manage," Yuri mumbled to himself, yet loud enough for the both to hear. He then turned his head to the blonde and grinned. "I'll try not to be a bother and leave as soon as I can," he finished.

He did not want to be a burden to Flynn who had already been kind enough to take him in when he was about to die. He wanted to remember his past and he would do so alone. He would most certainly not lead the pianist in his escapades.

Strangely enough, however, his words did not have an effect he expected on the blonde. The latter was staring at the dark haired man with disappointment, but mostly with sadness and... was that hurt? Why? This made no sense! Why would Flynn be already so much affected by his presence? Even if Yuri had to admit that he liked the other's company and that they could become great friends, they just barely met!

"You don't have to leave immediately," Flynn stated, now averting his gaze. "You don't know for sure that Russia should be the first place to look and, besides, the word big doesn't even begin to describe this country. Where would you go? How would you manage to survive? What if the thing or person that wounded you came back to you and hurt you again?"

His questions made sense and Yuri realised that he may not have thought things through. He really was a rash person; he would have been ready to jump ahead without thinking of all these matters. Yet, he found he barely cared. His memories were important, after all. However, he flinched in his resolve at the look of his new friend who obviously wanted him to stay.

"You don't have to go now, you can stay here as long as you would like. This house is becoming rather big for me alone and some company would not hurt. You can try remembering your past and discover new leads from here and, more than that, you could start creating new memories here. I mean, of course your past is important, but the present and the future are as well. I'm sure you would find it nice to be able to create new memories of which you can be fond of." As he spoke, Flynn was wearing a caring smile, his eyes never leaving Yuri's gaze. The latter suddenly could not ignore anymore the doubt that settled in his stomach.

"Flynn, why did you take me in?" he suddenly inquired with a light frown. The interested one arched an eyebrow in perplexity.

"Why? I found you lying on the wall of my house while I was going out, wounded and on the verge of death. Of course I would take you in and call a doctor to heal you immediately!" the blonde retorted as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was, because it was not the answer Yuri was looking for.

"That's not what I meant. If it was just for taking care of my injuries, you wouldn't be protesting so much at me saying I'd like to leave," Yuri clarified.

Flynn stood up from the couch and made a few steps forward without looking back at the dark haired man. "I already told you, the company wouldn't hurt–"

"Bullshit!" Yuri cut him abruptly, frowning. He sighed in frustration. Either Flynn was playing the idiot or he was truly reading too much into this situation. "That's certainly not the first thought you had after thinking of saving me. I may not have memories, but I'm sure it's uncommon to think 'oh, yay, I'm going to save this person to be able to have company living with me!' There's another reason, I'm sure. So why did you take me in? You could've just sent me to the hospital and be done with me."

This time, Flynn faced Yuri and threw him an affectionate smile. Immediately, the dark haired man was reminded how he thought at first that Flynn was an angel. Everything about him was so perfect that Yuri was mesmerized each time the pianist used tricks like these. His heart would stop for a brief instant before it would wildly thump in his chest, and he would have to fight a blush that threatened to redden his cheeks. The blonde sent him in such a flustered state that Yuri did not really know how to react.

"Because," Flynn finally answered mysteriously before he turned around and left the room.

* * *

"So you're basically a famous pianist known around the world," Yuri stated as he watched Flynn get up from the chair he sat onto a second sooner. They had been enjoying a cup of tea while chatting, but their cups were empty now and it seemed that the musician needed to leave for something already planned.

"I wouldn't really say around the world, but at least France and Poland. Vienna as well, but I won't really count it," the blonde replied with a grimace of distaste at the mention of the capital of Austria. "Didn't really have a good experience there. I'm glad to be here in Paris."

He walked out of the room to the peg at the entrance and grabbed a top hat of the same color as his coat, putting it on and adjusting it before returning in the kitchen, facing Yuri. The latter had to stop himself from staring too much, something he had caught himself doing a fair number of times lately. He did not really understand why; Flynn just had such an effect on him.

"I'm sorry, but I really need to leave now," the pianist declared as he glanced at the clock hanging on the wall.

The dark haired man pouted. "Why do you need to go give lessons to kids who'll obviously not reach the same level as you when they'll grow up?" he complained, ignoring the scowl that was thrown his way at his words. He did hear the annoyed sigh, however.

"Yuri, that's just mean. And I think it's understandable that those lessons I give are my income for keeping this house and buy food for _us_." Flynn made sure to accentuate the plural to make his guest understand that he was now a part of his spending.

Not that he would hold it against the long haired man, far from it. Flynn was the one who made the proposition of Yuri staying and he was glad that his new friend accepted. It was just that his friend needed to understand the blonde had to leave at some point to go to work.

"Meh! You don't need to give lessons to earn money! If you're famous, just stick to concerts and you'll make plenty of income!" Yuri suggested while he waved off the pianist's lecture.

Flynn merely rolled his eyes, discouraged by the dark haired man's attitude.

"I do believe I told you earlier that I don't quite enjoy concerts. I'll do them once in a while when people demand it, but otherwise, I prefer to play for friends. I don't particularly enjoy all the commotion of a crowd.[2]"

A knock from the entrance in the hall suddenly interrupted their conversation and Flynn turned his head in the direction the sound came from.

"That must be my ride. Well then, I'll be back in a few hours." He readied himself to leave the room, but Yuri stopped him once more.

"But what am I supposed to do during all that time?" he whined childishly. The blonde looked back at him in both amusement and compassion.

"How about writing your new memories in the notebook I gave you? You've been here for two days already and haven't written a single thing. Surely you would have a lot to tell. Now would be the perfect time."

And with a last wave of his hand, the pianist was gone from the kitchen. A few seconds after, Yuri heard the doors at the entrance open, a few words of greetings exchanged between Flynn and the coachman, and then the doors closing, leaving the dark haired man in complete silence.

At first, he felt uneasy and he grabbed his empty cup tightly. But then, he sighed heavily and shook his head in disapproval. How could he have become so dependent of Flynn after such a short time? He needed to pull himself together! The musician was only gone for a few hours, he would be back soon. Yuri needed to act as an adult and find something to do. Flynn's idea might actually be a good one. He should indeed write down everything that he experienced. That way, if he lost more of his memories, he would at least have testimonies of things he did.

He seized Flynn's cup and his own and walked to the sink in order to wash them both. He was done quickly and he put them back in their cupboard. His feet then led him out of the kitchen to his room where he grabbed the notebook he had left on his night table, as well as some ink and a quill. He travelled back to the room he was previously in order to sit back in the same chair and laid his equipment on the table.

Yuri observed his notebook's cover and a smile soon graced his lips. Flynn guessed with ease what his tastes were. The cover was completely black with barely any curly patterns to decorate it. It was simple, just the way the long haired man liked it. He opened it to the first page and started by writing the date. _March 18__th__, 1833._ He obviously continued with his first encounter with the pianist and how he believed the latter to be an angel.

_[...] I swear he gets me into such a state! I feel flustered and lose my comebacks each time he throws me those sweet smiles. And when those adorable ey_

Realising too late what he was writing, Yuri stared at the words with wide eyes before quickly crossing them out. This was not how he felt! This could not be how he felt! ... Could it? A blush crept on his cheeks and he sighed softly. He knew the guy for barely two days; could God not cut him some slacks? He would not jump to conclusions. Surely this was merely admiration for the man who had saved him. Yes, that must be it and nothing else.

Now certain of such a fact, even if it was not, the dark haired man concentrated back on the previous events he experienced. A light smile tugged at his lips as he remembered and he resumed his writing.

_Yesterday, when Flynn told me he came from Poland, I was surprised to know that I could understand him and converse with him easily. After all, if I am Russian, I should not understand him at all. Flynn explained to me that I must have learned Polish and, since he had begun our first conversation in Polish, my brain must have switched to that language easily. I find strange, however, that he decided to use Polish instead of French to speak to me. We are in France, not Poland, so I asked him about his choice of language. He told me it was a force of habit, but even if I did not push the subject, I know he hides another reason. Flynn acts a bit fishy when I wonder about my past. It is as if he knows something... but I might be reading too much into this. I do not really know what to think. I would need more clues._

_I was worried that I might not be able to get by in this place because of the language barrier. I can speak Polish, but what about French? I do not know how and why I ended up in this country in the first place. I should not have worried, however, because Flynn switched language and I still managed to understand him perfectly. It is weird and rather infuriating that I can still remember how to speak two different tongues, but not recall anything beyond that time I woke up. I am also starting to doubt my Russian origins as well as the name I recollected as being mine because I am unable to speak a single word in this language. _

Yuri glanced up and sighed heavily. Of course he did not expect to gain his memories in two days, but it still irked him to feel in the dark as such. It was as if his identity was stolen. At the moment, he could be someone totally different from the person he truly was. Actually, who was he? The dark haired man did not really know what kind of personality he had – he knew he enjoyed acting on impulse, but that was it for now –, what were the things he liked and disliked, what were his hobbies and many other things. Nothing was a certainty with him and he hated it. The only stable element of his personality was Flynn. Even though he would never admit it out loud, the other's company reassured him, put him at ease and helped him believe that everything would be all right and that he would find his memories one day. The pianist was some sort of pillar on which Yuri could hang onto in order not to fall in the emptiness of his doubts and uncertainties. All that after merely two days of knowing each other.

Somehow, the amnesiac could hardly believe they just acquainted. The blonde's presence was too familiar for it to be the first time the two men associated with each other. Flynn was a key to Yuri's past, the latter was sure of it. What that key was, however, he knew not. The worst part was that the musician refused to reveal anything. Why? What did he gain in keeping such information from the dark haired man? This made no sense whatsoever!

Yuri grumbled and looked back at the notebook. It was no use pondering about the matter when he was alone. The only thing he would obtain was a huge headache. He would have to wait for Flynn to get back and try to extract what the blonde knew from him. For now, he should focus on his writing, because even if it was embarrassing as hell, Yuri did find it important.

_I had the misfortune of tasting Flynn's __cooking__... no, you cannot even call it that at this point. It was too horrible for words to even begin describing it. I wonder how he managed to survive this long without poisoning himself. I was sure I was going to die while tasting such nauseating... can I even call that food? Either he is not used to cook, which I hope it is, or he is _really_ bad at this. Just thinking about it makes my skin crawl in horror._

_There is one good point about this ordeal, however, as shocking as this is. I was so disgusted that I took the initiative and monopolized the kitchen. I discovered that cooking was rather easy for me and that, contrary to Flynn, my cooking actually tasted good. I was pleased with myself, especially when Flynn told me he had never eaten something so delicious. From that moment, I appointed myself as his new chef. He protested a little, but I told him that for my survival, it was not debatable. Besides, I have to at least contribute in something in this house. I am glad he did not argue much._

Yuri wrote a little more of what happened the previous days, but soon grew tired of it when he was done with the essential. Glancing at the clock, he realised that Flynn would certainly not be here for another while. Disappointed and bored, he let his chin fall on the now closed notebook and huffed. He blew at the few locks of hair dropping on his nose and cheeks, wondering what he should do now.

Deciding that sitting around would not help him pass time, he abruptly stood up from his chair and left the kitchen with the intention of finding something to do. Reading was out of the question, he just was not feeling like it. As he checked the rooms in the house's sole floor, he stopped in front of Flynn's office and a smirk suddenly appeared on his lips. Bad ideas crossed his mind and Yuri suddenly had the urge to rummage through the pianist's things. He did not care if this was an invasion of privacy. Maybe he would find clues in there. Besides, he was _bored_. That alone was enough to make the musician pay for leaving him alone.

He entered the room and immediately went to the desk where Flynn usually worked. As Yuri looked through the papers, however, he soon realised that this search was useless. There was nothing more than sheets of music neatly stacked together. Some were finished, others were merely drafts. None of these papers contained written comments or secret diaries that could give him clues. Of course. What had he thought? This was the place where Flynn worked on his masterpieces; he would not bother keeping unrelated documents in his desk. He was a neat freak, after all, from what Yuri had observed.

Then maybe in his room? The long haired man was about to go check, when his eyes caught papers on the grand piano's lectern. What had actually drawn him in was the title of the displayed piece: _Farewell_. This was obviously a music the blonde had written because Yuri recognized his handwriting, which left the amnesiac perplexed. Farewell? Farewell to whom? Somehow, he could not shake the feeling of melancholy upon reading the sole word. Forgetting his previous resolve, he slowly made his way to the bench and sat on it while staring at the ivory keys. His fingers gently moved along their smooth surface while he tried to decipher the notes written on the paper above. He was disappointed when he realised that he could not read nor understand them. Playing the piano was either forgotten or not in his talents – he tended to lean towards the latter. He pushed one of the keys in the middle and listened to its profound sound echoing in the office. The instrument had a beautiful ringing in itself. No doubt Flynn picked an expensive piano to make sure to have nothing but quality.

One by one, Yuri pushed on the notes, from time to time taking advantage of the fact that the piano's lid was opened so he could observe the small hammers gently hit the chords. It was a fascinating system. His eyes turned back to the sheet music and Yuri found himself wishing for the blond to be back already so that he could play him that particular melody.

"Would you like to learn?" a voice suddenly whispered in his ear and Yuri started violently. He whipped around, a hand clutching his shirt on his chest tightly as he tried to calm his thumping heart.

"Flynn, you moron! Don't do that to me!" he cried out in anger, earning him a chuckle from the pianist.

The latter still had his top hat on; maybe he had been attracted by the sound of his instrument and immediately came here. Thoughts of how handsome the blonde looked overshadowed any rational parts of Yuri's mind before he slapped himself mentally. What the heck was he thinking?

The musician sat next to his friend and gazed affectionately at his piano. "I'm sorry, that was not my intention." The smile tugging the corner of his lips told Yuri otherwise and the latter grumbled. "Anyway, you didn't answer me. Would you like to learn?"

The dark haired man pushed some of his annoying strands behind his back while feigning an annoyed look.

"Heck no! I don't have the talent or the patience. I would just ruin anything you would try to make me play," he replied even if, secretly, that was not the entire truth. He _knew_ he would not be any good. However, a part of him still wanted to try. It was just too embarrassing to say it, though.

When he looked back at Flynn, he saw disappointment flash in those beautiful blue orbs, but it quickly disappeared when the blonde smiled half-heartedly. "Then why were you sitting here, trying out the keys?" he inquired simply. Yuri merely shrugged nonchalantly and pointed at the sheet music.

"I was curious about this. You wrote it, am I wrong? Why is it called _Farewell_?"

Flynn's gaze stared at the title and his smile turned bittersweet before he indulged his friend in an answer. "A spur of the moment, I guess," he whispered, almost enough for Yuri not to hear it.

A spur? Like hell! The mere hesitation before answering was enough for Yuri to understand that the blonde was not telling everything. However, even if he felt attracted to the title, he could not jump to conclusions. There could be tons of things Flynn did not want to talk about with Yuri, like a lost lover, for example. Again, they knew each other for barely two days, not enough for the pianist to share everything, even if the sound of Flynn being with someone else other than Yuri made the latter cringe.

Wait, what? These thoughts made no sense again! He really needed to get a grip!

"I see..." Yuri trailed off. He suddenly stood up, grabbed a chair not too far and installed it next to the piano before sitting on it, staring intently at the pianist. "I want to hear it."

This was a demand, and the tone the dark haired man used told Flynn that he had no other choice but to play. The latter chuckled as he shook his head lightly before he readied himself. His back straightened up, his right foot was placed above the pedal, and his fingers lightly reached for the keys. For a short moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, Flynn's fingers lowered and the melody was drawn out from the instrument.

Shivers ran down Yuri's spine as he listened intently while observing the pianist. He moved with such liberty, it was inconceivable. It was as if he did not even touch the keys while he ran his fingers along them, caressing their smooth surface before jumping lightly, only to fall back as a lover would in the arms of their beloved. Yuri had the impression he took care not to hurt the keys, knowing that the music would still resound. Actually, the sound might even flow with more accuracy because he took such care of his instrument. Of course, this was a notion that should not be making any sense, but it was still the impression the dark haired man was left with.

Each movement the musician made had significance, none were pointless. This only helped the lightness and grace of his actions and music. His fingers acted as something akin to a team: each had individuality, but they all needed to work together in order to produce the most magnificent of melodies. Flynn's arms and back shifted along the piano, depending on the spot he played. It served at giving strength and support to his hands. Even his head moved slightly up and down, following the rhythm of the tune. Simply looking at the pianist play was impressing and Yuri knew he would never be able to tear his eyes away from the sight.

The melody in itself was very soft, slow and calm. The long haired man realised that his head was rocking gently from side to side along the music that kept sending shivers in his body. The music sometimes became a little perkier, but it never lost its softness. Nostalgia and sadness filled Yuri's heart as he listened, and he could truly imagine Flynn trying to say goodbye to someone – who, he imagined, he would never know. However, he could tell that this person had been important to the musician, because there was still hope tinged in each of the notes played; hope to someday meet that person again. That was the impression Yuri was left with.

He did not realise he ended up closing his eyes while enjoying the music until he opened them once the last notes were lowered. His grey irises turned to the fingers that were kept in place before they finally released the keys with tenderness. Then, they silently ran over the board from left to right and back to left until they were back in the middle. Yuri watched in wonder and, once Flynn saw his puzzled expression, smiled meekly.

"A habit I've taken. I don't know why, it just feels right," he explained in a light tone before chuckling to himself. "Though Franz quite hates it, says I'm expelling the magic atmosphere," he finished fondly.

"Who?" Yuri asked, somehow not liking the way he talked about other people like that.

"Franz Liszt, a fellow pianist and friend of mine. You'll meet him soon, I'm pretty sure. He's a nice man, full of life. I'm sure you two would get along," Flynn answered before he gathered the sheets together and hit them twice on the piano's surface to put them in a neat stack. "Did you like my performance?" he suddenly inquired, changing the subject.

Silence met his question and the blonde frowned, suddenly a little worried that his friend had not liked it. However, he was surprised to see not disagreement on the dark haired man's face, but rather embarrassment.

"Yuri?" he called out gently.

"I'd like you to teach me how to play," he blurted out, his cheeks flaring up as his grey orbs stubbornly gazed away from Flynn. The latter's eyes widened in shock before it soon melted in an amused expression.

"I thought you 'didn't have the talent or the patience' and that 'you would just ruin anything I would try to make you play'?" the pianist repeated his friend's previous words, mock laced with his tone.

If it was possible, Yuri's cheeks would have reddened more than they were already, of course from embarrassment, but also from irritation.

"If you don't want to teach me, then say so already!" he snapped angrily, soon regretting his words.

Somehow, he badly wanted to learn in order to play that very piece he just listened to. He was drawn to it and he would feel satisfied only when he would have mastered it. Asking this was just humiliating as hell! The worst part was that Yuri knew this was only the tip of the iceberg. Trying to learn something and let Flynn hear his every mistake was even more shameful.

Flynn sighed softly and his amused smile sweetened. "I never said that," he told and patted the bench on his side while he scooted away to give space for Yuri to sit next to him. "I'll gladly teach you. Now come here."

The latter grumbled for a second before moving closer to the pianist, the red on his face not giving away signs that it would leave any time soon. Flynn found it hard to ignore it as he wanted to badly comment on it; however he chose the safest direction and focused on the piano. He knew he would receive a fist on his head otherwise.

"Start by placing your right hand over the principle keys: _do_, _re_, _mi_, _fa_, and _sol_." The blonde pointed at each note as he said their names and waited for Yuri to do as indicated. "I know you're left handed, but don't worry. The piano is an instrument where you use both hands and they each have a different, but important role that cannot be inversed. The right hand, for instance, plays the melody, while the left is the accompaniment. That's why we usually learn with the right hand first. It will allow you to understand the logic behind the music while listening to something that makes sense," he explained.

He took Yuri's thumb that was currently on the _do_. "Before we start, I'll explain something about the fingers. They will give off a different sonority, depending on which one you use. The thumb, for instance, is the strongest because it's bigger and easier to manipulate. The one following is the fifth." Flynn released the thumb to take the finger he had just mentioned. "Although it's the smallest, the way you will move your hand will give it strength. After that comes the forefinger who will give support to both the thumb and little finger."

He moved to Yuri's second finger and raised it before moving to the last two he had not talked about yet. "Then, in last is the middle finger which is the weakest and which cannot be separated from the ring finger. Usually, these two last fingers are used for weaker notes, ones that we want to hear less. Try to keep that in mind each time you play."

This was a lot of information to take in and Yuri was not really sure he understood it all. Actually, scratch that, he was not even sure he had _heard_ it all. Flynn was just so close that he could not fight back the blush that overtook his cheeks once more, especially once the blonde played with his fingers like that. The dark haired man could not understand why having the pianist so near sent him in such a flustered state, but he was glad that the pianist was too engrossed in his explanations to even notice.

"Did you get all that?"

Yuri started and gulped when he realised that Flynn was looking directly at him, a look of concern on his features. "Huh?" he managed to lamely say.

"I went too fast with my explanations, haven't I?" Flynn sighed in discouragement at himself. "I'm sorry, I'm just used to explain such notions to people who already know music and a little bit of piano. I'll just show you instead."

Before Yuri could voice any kind of protest and that the blonde's explications were fine, the latter took a hold of the dark haired man's hand. This mere action sent Yuri's brain in overdrive and, once more, he missed his friend's demonstration.

Damn it, he needed to get a grip! He could not keep this up, otherwise Flynn would soon understand that something was wrong. If the blond found out, it would be too embarrassing and Yuri would have to put up with his teasing. And so he concentrated on his hand and his hand only, not the soft one above that almost left caresses on his skin and... his own hand only, damn it!

The pianist suddenly released him and Yuri realised he had stopped talking. That was apparently his cue to start something, surely to experiment the other's teachings. Ugh! He had to remember what Flynn had told him and fast! First off was the thumb... Yuri did not recall what exactly he was supposed to do, and so he simply hit the note a bit hard.

"That's it, that's it! You don't really need to play that hard, but keep in mind that the thumb will always play with more force than the other fingers," Flynn congratulated with a smile that urged the pupil to go on.

Yuri's eyebrows furrowed in concentration and he moved his hand up then down to use his little finger, as the pianist had instructed. He kept on when he was encouraged, trying to engrave the feeling it left in his hands as he moved and played.

Soon, Flynn was asking him to start with the _do_ scale, showing him in an upper octave how he should move his fingers: thumb, forefinger, middle finger, then thumb again to little finger until he reached the last _do_. It was not very hard to execute, and so Yuri soon was able to do it rather quickly. Learning to play was actually quite fun, more than he had believed so. He was happy he had asked Flynn in the end.

The lesson stretched out until the sun was out and they both realised with grumbling stomachs that it would be soon time for dinner. Yuri laughed in amusement and stood up, saying he would go prepare dinner, before he walked away quickly, a delighted blush on his face. This afternoon had been particularly pleasant and he could not help but be excited for the next lessons that would be to come.

"Will I be able to practice on the piano when you're not here?" the dark haired man asked nonchalantly, stopping in the doorway right before crossing into the hall. Flynn smiled from his sitting position.

"Of course. You can come whenever you want," he started. "Except when I'm composing a new music piece. Then this office is off limit."

"Huh? Why?" Yuri turned his head in surprise, puzzled by the other's restriction.

"You'll see soon enough," came the mysterious reply with a smile just as cryptic. No other explanation followed and Yuri walked off, curious about his friend's words.

* * *

And see soon enough he did. A week went by after his first lesson where Yuri wrote in his notebook, learned new techniques and easy pieces of music on the piano, or practiced them alone. One morning, however, he woke up to the sound of the piano which he immediately found weird. Flynn usually never played so early in the morning, making sure the dark haired man was at least awake before he started practicing on his own. Grumpy at being torn from his sleep in such an abrupt way, Yuri tried to ignore the sound and go back to sleep, but soon found he could not. He got off from bed, stretched as he yawned and attempted to comb his bed hair before exiting his bedroom. He walked to the office, brooding over Flynn's stupid idea of an alarm clock. He was not a morning person and he would make sure that the musician got it. As he made his way in the hall, he did not pick up on the unusual way the pianist played.

He opened the door to the piano room and was met with the sight of a frustrated Flynn who was now leaving his piano to go sit on his desk to write something down furiously. Not understanding what was going on, Yuri scowled and crossed his arms, leaning on the doorway.

"Hey, what gives? That's not an hour to be playing! People are trying to sleep, you know!" the dark haired man complained. The blonde snapped his head up and returned an expression as grumpy as the intruder's.

"Pardon? I'll let you know that this is _my_ home. I do believe I can play any time I want, thank you very much." Flynn's tone was unpleasant and almost cold. He however returned his attention on his papers and his quill was scratching quickly. The long haired man was irked and he balled his hands into fists.

"Hey, if you didn't want me to stay, you just had to say so when I _offered _to leave! _You_ wanted me to stay, so don't give me crap like that and be respectful!" Yuri retorted in frustration as he strode to the pianist.

The latter continued writing and tried to ignore the intruder, but soon found he could not. He exhaled in indignation and stood abruptly before grabbing Yuri by the shoulders and turning him around.

"Look, I don't have time to deal with this. Just get out," he seethed as he pushed the dark haired man out of the room.

The latter struggled to get away from the pianist's grasp, but found that Flynn was too strong. He ended up being shoved outside the office and the door was slammed behind him. Seeing red, Yuri reached for the doorknob, but realised that the musician had locked the door. He banged on the door violently.

"The hell? Flynn, open that damn door, I'm not finished!" he yelled, but the sound of the piano soon covered his voice.

Yuri knew that it would now be no use and that the blonde would ignore him. In his frustration, he gave a last kick on the door and grumbled all sorts of insults to describe his friend. He strode away to the kitchen where he would be able to make himself breakfast and possibly calm down.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply as he rummaged through the cupboards and the ice box to prepare his food. When he had calmed down, he finally started to pay attention to Flynn's playing. That was when he noticed how weird it was. Instead of being the usual music Yuri heard each day, it was something completely new. Not only that: it was also full of mistakes and the pianist seemed to be stopping a lot for a certain amount of time before playing again. Sometimes, he would repeat the same parts he had earlier, or he would go with something else entirely. Yuri finally understood what was going on:

Flynn was composing.

Over the days, Yuri learned the hard way that, when the pianist was creating a piece of music, he did so whenever inspiration struck. This meant that he could do this at any time of the day, without eating or sleeping much, and this dragged on for quite a few days. Yuri had to insist that Flynn eat at least two meals a day and had to bring what he prepared in the office for Flynn to eat there – well, eat was a big word considering that most of the time, the dark haired man found the plate only half emptied. As for sleep, the blonde ignored that essential need as well, playing at the wee hours of the day, leaving no choice for Yuri to get used to go to bed while there was noise bothering him. Thankfully, at some point, Flynn would fall asleep on his desk and when Yuri would find him in such position, he would cover his body with a blanket, knowing that the pianist would refuse to sleep in his bed and, if woken up, would immediately go back to work.

Of course, Flynn was definitely not in any mood to be spoken to as he worked. He was irritable and worked furiously, played melodies that came in mind and wrote them before he scratched it irately and tried something else entirely, only to come back with what he had started at the very last minute. The first few times Yuri came into the office to try and encourage him to eat or sleep, they fought a lot, getting on each other's nerves. However, the dark haired man soon learned that he should just stay on the side and bring meals to his friend without a word. Flynn needed his space when he worked and Yuri would have to respect that.

That did not mean it pleased him. On the contrary, Yuri thought he would soon snap. Except for writing in his notebook, he had nothing to do. He was bored to death! To make matters worse, right before Flynn entered his composing frenzy, he forbade Yuri to go outside. The blonde used as an excuse that he was not able to show the dark haired man around and that the latter could easily get lost in the streets.

Well bullshit! Surely Yuri had not such a bad sense of orientation! It had been a week that he was cooped up in this place now and if he did not go outside, he was sure he would explode! He would definitely go today. It was just a bit frustrating that someone came every two days to bring food or to clean around the house, leaving Yuri without any excuses of why he had gone outside. Wait... what the heck? He did not need any excuses to go outside! Ugh! He could not believe how Flynn was irritable even when not around.

This was decided then. He would go take a walk and come back to prove to Flynn that he was capable of finding his way without any trouble. Maybe he would not even need to say that he went outside, actually. The blonde was so engrossed in his work that Yuri would be able to return before the pianist even realised he was gone.

Pleased with his plan, the long haired man left the house without a single look behind him. As soon as the fresh outside air filled his lungs, he inhaled and exhaled in pure happiness. The hustling and bustling of people walking and talking between each other, and of coaches traveling around in the streets with the constant _clip-clop_ of the horses' hooves eased Yuri's mind. He was about to go crazy in the house, but now he felt at peace. It felt good to finally be outside.

He looked from left to right, wondering in which direction he should go, before his feet led him to his left. He was here to discover the city so it did not matter which side he took first. As he walked, he came across numerous apartments and houses as well as a park filled with people taking walks and children playing different games. Yuri understood that he was currently in a residential neighbourhood. Judging from the long dresses made of various expensive fabrics and the rich suits completed with top hats women and men wore respectively, as well as the manners they used around each other, it was obviously a well-off neighbourhood. This was a place that suited Flynn. He was a famous pianist, after all. Surely he was well known in this area alone and was in demand from every high noble.

Yuri continued his stroll out of the neighbourhood and into what seemed to be the merchant place. He saw various boutiques and shops, ranging from clothes to food with a couple of books and other merchandise in between. Merely by looking at the products displayed and the people entering the buildings, the dark haired man knew that these were not things commoners could usually afford. The more he saw women strut about, and men boast and look down on others, all behind masks of fake humility and care, the more he was disgusted. It was shallow and puerile. They only cared about their own little world and nothing else. He could see the sideway glances they shot him, filled with disdain at his long hair and outrageousness at his nonchalant attitude. Nobles were the same everywhere!

Huh? Everywhere? Why could he think that when he had no memories? Did it mean he was once in close contact with nobility? This left him perplexed and he stopped in his walk, trying to remember. He was sure this was a memory that had subconsciously resurfaced. If he dug deeper, he might find something interesting!

However, he was torn from his thoughts as he heard a cry of distress further away. Looking up, he saw a group of nobles – men and women alike – next to a boy that obviously did not come from high class. What he was doing here, Yuri had no idea, but he seemed to be persecuted by those vultures. Indeed, the kid was suddenly pushed down the sideway and fell into the mud. The persecutors burst out in laughter while the child attempted to stand up, a crestfallen expression on his features, but the man who had pushed him kicked him in the back and the boy fell face flat in the dirty goo once more. That was it! Yuri could not stand by and watch.

He approached the group and heard the laughter more clearly.

"Oops, my bad! I didn't see you there, I was sure you were a part of this mud. I mean, you blend in so well with it!" the instigator of the child's misfortunate exclaimed while smoothing his moustache, earning more laughter from the others.

Already seeing red, Yuri wondered what would be enough to make them pay, when he saw a woman exit her shop with a bucket containing dirty water that she was about to throw away. Smirking, Yuri walked towards her.

"Would you mind if I take care of this for you? I'll bring the bucket back, promise," he inquired.

The lady threw him a surprised look, but thankfully handed him the bucket anyway. Yuri threw her a charming smile as he grabbed the object and thanked her before turning to the still laughing group. He saw that the man who had bullied the boy was about to send the latter back into the mud, so Yuri acted quickly. In a fast and strong motion, he launched the water at the group, making sure to spare the kid. Shrieks of surprise and disgust rang out and each of the men and women froze in place. Then, they slowly turned to the source of their own misfortune: a Yuri faking innocence, now holding the bucket behind him.

"Oops, my bad! I didn't see you there," he exclaimed in fake shock, using the same words as the noble had used earlier. The latter shook as his face became red with rage and Yuri saw the moustache quiver. It was quite the funny sight and the dark haired man chuckled evilly.

"Why you little!" the moustached man cried out and ran towards Yuri with the sole intent of hitting him.

The dark haired man waited until the last moment and ducked with expertise. He used the same technique Flynn had on the day they met and, when he rose, adjusted the man on his shoulder before he dropped the excess weight behind him. An 'oof' of pain echoed as Yuri took a couple of steps forward, washing his hands of it. He heard the man stand up from behind while another in front rushed to him as well. Yuri sidestepped and let the two collide before he hooked the moustached one's ankle and they both tumbled to the ground, one above the other. Then, with a kick of his foot, Yuri sent them into the mud where the boy had managed to finally get away from. The long haired man snickered, arms crossed on his chest as he looked down on the nobles now reduced to pathetic dirty people.

"You should learn to respect others; otherwise, it might fall back on you!" Yuri warned before grabbing the boy's hand and leading him away from the still shocked group.

He then seized the bucket he had left behind when taking care of the two men and walked back to the lady who had observed everything without a word. She accepted the object handed to her with an unsure smile, although the boy could swear she swooned when Yuri smiled to her charmingly before he continued his way, bringing the child along with him.

"What's your name, kid?" the long haired man inquired, looking down at the boy covered in dry mud.

"I'm Karol. Thanks for saving me, by the way," the concerned one answered with a grin as though the fact that he was dirty did not bother him anymore.

Yuri's lips were tugged with softness and he ruffled Karol's chestnut coloured hair – he thought he saw a glimpse of that colour. The latter protested loudly, trying to chase away the hand, failing miserably so. In the end, his hair was even more dishevelled than it already was.

"You need to wash off. Let's get you home," he suggested and came to a stop, waiting for the boy to give him the directions.

Karol nodded and indicated that they should go down the street and turn to the left to reach the commoners' neighbourhood. By then, he would lead the older man to his house. Yuri agreed and they moved forward.

"By the way, what were you doing in a place like this? Surely you knew that rich people are usually bastards who only care about themselves. And isn't it rather far from home?" the dark haired man asked, both hands behind his head in a nonchalant gesture.

Karol scratched his cheek in a nervous gesture. "I was... I was trying to find a job," he answered in a small voice, looking down as his cheeks flared up.

Yuri raised an eyebrow, but soon understood and his face fell to neutrality. The kid lived in the commoners' neighbourhood; it was not hard to do the math. Karol's family must be having financial difficulties and he was searching for a job to help his parents keep the home they had. Yuri could not help but hate nobles even more now.

"My dad's sick and he can't work anymore, so my mom and my brother try their best to work so that they can keep the house and buy food, but it's hard, especially for my mom. So I wanted to help them and hope to find some work."

Yuri was right. He felt bad for the boy, mostly because he could not really help him, having no money to share. He was depending on Flynn after all.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he sympathised. He was lightly amused upon seeing the grin on Karol's face. At least, the kid was not one to get depressed.

"It's okay! I'll find something and we'll be fine, I'm sure!" This time, Karol saw the hand coming and shooed it away in time before Yuri could start ruffling his hair again. They both laughed as they kept walking.

Soon, they reached Karol's house and Yuri waved him goodbye, but not before he promised he would come visit. When the boy was safely back in his home, the dark haired man turned around, but then stopped dead.

Where was he supposed to go?

Wait, wait! There was no way he was lost, it was impossible! He was just a bit confused because the sun was already almost down. He would find his way back without any trouble. He just needed to go down that street, and then...

And then he would remember as he would go, that was all!

Determined, he strode away, making sure to stop at every turn in order to look from left to right and to attempt spotting things he saw before. However, the more he walked, the less he recognized the buildings and the streets. The fact that there was no one around anymore did not help in the least. Yuri gulped and cursed at himself. Should he have listened to Flynn?

No! No, there was no way he should have! He was glad he went out, otherwise he knew he would have gotten crazy. He would just have to manage on his own and get back before Flynn noticed his absence.

His feet kept going. Soon, a chill ran down his spine and the impression that he was being watched made itself too present. He was not alone anymore. However, he knew he could not stop and ask the people following for directions. They were not here to be civil, on the contrary. They surely were thieves thinking he had money. No surprise, considering the clothes Flynn had lent him – they were the same size, so it had been easy finding clothes.

Yuri's steps quickened and he picked roads at random in order to lose whoever was following him. However, as cliché as that sounded, it was slapped right back at his face, because now stood before him the tall wall of a building. He was in a dead end. Sighing in frustration, a hand on his hip, he turned around and saw four men approaching him slowly with smirks on their faces. They all wore black; one was taller than everyone – approximately 6'5" – while the three others were around the same average height. One of those three wore a long coat and high boots above pants, hands in his pockets. His black hair was pulled back, except for a mere fringe on the right side of his face which almost hid his right eye as they gleamed evilly at Yuri. The latter guessed that this must be the leader. He looked the brightest from the four, the others mere brutes with muscles everywhere except for the brain.

"Guess I have no choice," Yuri muttered, already feeling thrilled with the prospect of fighting.

Flynn would not be too happy with him because his wounds had just finished healing, but oh well. It was not like he had a choice anyway.

"To what owes me the pleasure?" he asked aloud with a sneer playing on his lips, flipping a few strands of hair behind his back.

"We have come to play a little," the leader answered in a thick and weird accent that was obviously neither French nor Polish, returning the other's expression as he kept approaching slowly.

The four of them were now very near Yuri. The latter detailed his chances of escaping. There were a few boxes he could use to protect himself or jump on. However, it would be hard since they could easily block his paths. He would have to take them on and hope that he would manage to escape at some point.

"Oh yeah? But what if I'm not in the mood to play?" Yuri asked with a pout. It earned a dark a chuckle.

"Do not worry, we will be the ones playing," the man cackled.

Yuri scowled with his smirk still in place. This guy already irritated him to no end! He could not wait to punch his shark like face!

The leader snapped his fingers and the tallest of the brutes dashed towards Yuri. The latter jumped to the side on a box before taking a swing to kick him in the back. The man stumbled forward, but quickly regained his balance and rushed back at his target. This time, also, the two other underlings joined the first, adding a level of difficulty for Yuri. However, he was able to stay on the lookout, knowing that the leader was staying on the side to observe for now.

Yuri ducked a punch and grabbed the arm above him in order to swing the man into his partner of the same height. The long haired man then sidestepped when he saw a foot trying to hook his ankles. He lowered and danced away from a fist before going behind the tallest man's back and pushed him with his shoulder. Yuri groaned when he realised that it did not work; the man was too hefty. He would have to try another method to bring him down. He quickly jumped out of the way when his target attempted to punch him again, the hand missing from barely an inch.

Yuri's eyes fell on the boxes again and an idea hit him. He hoped it would work this time. He quickly ran behind it and leaned down to be able to hold its edge. And then, he pushed it while he kept running at the back, giving it strength and pace. The tallest man, who followed him, did not see it coming. Soon, the box was hitting him full force in the legs and he lost his balance, falling above Yuri. The latter gave the container a last strong thrust, hurling it towards the other two men who had staggered up. The long haired man then rapidly straightened up and threw the man above him away with all his force, letting out a cry as he propelled the man away. The latter crashed in the boxes remaining while the other two slammed in the opposite wall. Yuri knew that those two were out of commission, but since he was not so sure about the third, he _did_ make sure. He jogged to the groaning man in the boxes and kicked him hard in the face, breaking his nose in the process, leaving him unconscious.

Smirking in satisfaction, Yuri turned around to make a run for it. However, he had merely taken a few steps that the sound of a gun rang out and pain flared in his left leg. Screaming in pain, he crouched and grabbed his wound, hissing and cursing. He heard footsteps slowly come his way and dark cackle resonated in the silence of the night.

"Hey, that's not fair, using toys that I don't even have!" Yuri complained with a weak chuckle of his own, still wincing.

"I was not looking for a fair game, Mr. Lowell," the shark-like man answered matter-of-factly.

His words made Yuri jump in shock and he looked up as he saw the leader enter his field of vision with a gun pointed at his forehead.

"Who are you? What do you want? How do you know my name?" the long haired man demanded, scowling.

This did not make any sense! Could Flynn truly have guessed his family name? Actually, no, this did make sense. It meant that Flynn knew him, that Yuri's suspicions were right!

"My, so you really forgot? How sad," the man tsked. "Ah well, never mind that. I was to bring you either dead or alive, but as unfortunate as it is, it seems you chose the former option. Goodbye, Mr. Lowell."

Yuri closed his eyes tightly waiting for the fatal strike, wishing he could have discovered his past and gotten to know Flynn better. Alas, everything was over and he would never get the chance.

No sound of gunshot or pain came, however. Instead, Yuri heard a smack above him and, when he opened his eyes, he was met by the sight of Flynn violently shoving a stick in his dizzy opponent's ribs, sending him flying on the ground. The blonde then knocked the man's face, drawing a choked scream from the latter. When he was sure that he was unconscious, the pianist rushed back to Yuri's side, kneeling in front of the dark haired man and cupping the latter's face in his hands. The dark haired man blushed violently at the contact and looked away.

"Are you alright?" Flynn asked frantically with worry and panic.

And from what Yuri observed sideways, he could tell that the musician was exhausted: his breathing was coming in shallow puffs and his limbs were trembling violently. Even so, the blonde was ignoring it, focused all on Yuri.

"I'm fine," Yuri whispered with strain.

In his inspection of the wounded man, the musician finally saw the blood flowing freely, despite the hands trying to cut off the bleeding. Without a second thought, Flynn ripped a part of his sleeve and, with the fabric, bandaged Yuri's wound after removing the latter's hands. The pianist did examine the wound beforehand as well.

"This will need to be examined, but I think the bullet just grazed your skin pretty deep. It doesn't seem to be stuck," he explained.

He then helped Yuri up, sliding one of the other's arms around his neck and he himself placing one of his own beneath Yuri's in order to support him. "We need to get out of here and fast. I really hope they're knocked out really hard to leave us time to escape," Flynn muttered angrily. Yuri did not speak up, knowing very well that Flynn was angry at him. He only wondered when the blonde would explode.

They travelled on foot as fast as they could, the pianist cursing from time to time at the fact that he had not come in a coach. Since none traveled the commoners' neighbourhood at night, they had to cross it all the way back to the wealthy one. By the time they reached it, Yuri's leg was numb. He had also paled considerably because of the pain and the loss of blood. Flynn noticed and encouraged him. "Hold on, Yuri." When an empty coach came in view, the blonde gestured for him to pick them up, which the coachman did. The pianist instructed their driver to get them to a certain private clinic quickly and, once Yuri and he were inside, the vehicle departed at a fast pace.

They were at the clinic in a matter of minutes. Flynn paid and thanked the coachman in a hurry before he guided Yuri inside the building. There, the dark haired man was instantly taken care of by the doctor who was called by the musician from the entrance. Yuri was led to an examination table where the doctor examined his wound properly. At the same moment, Flynn borrowed a pen and paper with the permission of the doctor before writing something down and then disappearing somewhere else in the clinic. It was soon followed by the sound of the entrance opening and closing, then Flynn was back at Yuri's side. The latter gazed at him questioningly.

"I sent someone to the police office down the street. I just hope that they'll be able to find those men," he explained, but added nothing else.

Yuri returned his attention to the doctor. When the latter admitted that his patient would need stitches, Yuri protested vehemently. However, one look from Flynn had him shut up and sulk it up. He had no choice but to go along with it.

Yuri hissed in pain when the doctor anesthetised his leg with a syringe and looked away in disgust from his wound. That's when he saw it: a jar of candies, surely given to children if they behaved. Yuri's eyes traveled back and forth from the jar to Flynn pleadingly and the latter sighed in a mix of amusement and discouragement.

"You'll get one if you behave."

This was enough for Yuri not to say a word anymore, nor to move. Besides, now that he could not feel his leg, the pain was gone. Soon, his wound was cleaned, stitched and bandaged and he received a lollipop that he happily shoved into his mouth.

"You should avoid walking on that leg for the next few days so that the wound can close up properly," the doctor advised as he stood up from his seat and went to grab a stick with a knob that he gave Yuri.

The dark haired man stared at it, only seizing it reluctantly under Flynn's scrutinizing gaze. They did not drag their visit and thanked the doctor before leaving, grabbing another coach to go back home.

Once they arrived, Flynn helped him back inside. As they walked, the pianist started coughing. Yuri shot him worried glances, but the blonde's gaze stubbornly kept ahead, reminding the dark haired man that his friend was still angry at him. Flynn led Yuri to his bedroom and the latter was finally able to sit on his bed, putting his stick away. He knew from the fact that the blonde was not leaving that he would explode any time soon.

He did.

"I can't believe you! I told you before, didn't I? Don't go outside until I can properly show you around, otherwise you'll get lost! And look what happened: you got lost and, most of all, wounded! Paris' streets can be very dangerous at night. You could have been seriously hurt, even more than that, Yuri!" The other's reprimand irritated Yuri to no end. What right did Flynn have over him?

"Tch! Is that even the real reason? Somehow I doubt it. I wouldn't be surprised to hear you wanted to keep me imprisoned in here!" Yuri retorted with venom in his voice, glaring at the pianist.

Flynn shook in anger. A hand was brought to his lips as he coughed, but the long haired man was now too furious to notice.

"I never said that! I just wanted you to be careful!" the blonde yelled harder, his other hand discreetly reaching the nightstand for support.

Yuri turned his head away in an outraged scowl. "Bullshit! That man called me Lowell, Flynn! Strange coincidence that you would give me such a surname at random, don't you think?" he spat.

The pianist visibly paled at such a revelation and Yuri knew he had been right in his assumptions, even if the other tried to deny it.

"Lowell is a pretty common name in Russia," Flynn trailed off, coughing a little harder, but the dark haired man would hear none of it.

"Don't give me such crap! You're not good at lying, Flynn. Tell me why you lied to me! Tell me what you know about me!" Yuri demanded and finally noticed how his friend was violently trembling.

At first, he blamed it on the overflow of emotions, but when he thought about it, he realised that Flynn was coughing slightly since the moment the blonde found him. Yuri was just too focused on his pain before to notice earlier.

"I can't. I can't, I'm sorry," Flynn replied miserably, which flared up Yuri's anger once more.

"What? Why? That's unfair! You get to know about my past, but I don't?" he yelled.

His voice dropped only when the pianist doubled over in a coughing fit, still trying desperately to hold onto the nightstand for support. Yuri was about to stand up to help him, but Flynn managed to cry out a "Don't!" before coughing harder. The dark haired man scrunched his nose and stood anyway, making sure to put as less weight as possible on his wounded leg and going to hold the blonde in order to support him. It lasted a minute or two before Flynn was left wheezing, but breathing. He straightened up and half scowled at Yuri who returned to bed.

"I told you not to get up... but thanks," he said gratefully, now half-leaning against the wall. "I'm sorry, but I think I'll go rest now," the pianist added tiredly. Worry settled in Yuri once more.

"Shouldn't we get the doctor?" he asked, unsure. Flynn smiled at him amusingly as he left the wall he was using as his support.

"As much as I'd like to, neither of us is in the shape to do that. Besides, I'm going to be alright. I've always had a fragile health. I just need to rest and everything is going to be fine," the blonde reassured as he walked away, leaving Yuri alone.

The latter's anger died down, but it did not mean he would leave the subject aside. His friend's words still rang in his mind: _I can't. I can't, I'm sorry._ Why? What stopped him from revealing it all?

It was no use thinking over it for tonight; he would receive no answer for now. And so he slid under the covers of his bed and shut the light before closing his eyes, hoping sleep would claim him despite his furious thoughts and worry over Flynn.

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[1]For the sake of this story, let's say that Lowell is Russian.

[2]Of course, this is a trait taken from Chopin, not from Flynn, lol. I wanted to make a mix of both their personalities to fit this story.

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**A/N: **And here you go! I hope you enjoyed chapter one!

You know, at first, this was supposed to be a oneshot. As you must know, it did not turn out that way. The ideas are going crazy in my head and refused to let me have a oneshot... or if I did make it as one, I'm sure it would end up making more than 200 pages on Word xD That can't be a oneshot anymore...

I think that what inspired me to write this first and foremost is obvious: Flynn's Chopin costume in the PS3 *drools*. There's also the fact that I have played piano for over 16 years and Chopin is definitely my favourite composer.

The second thing that inspired me was the piece _Farewell_ that I heard in the game Eternal Sonata. This music is actually called _Sadness_, and it's the etude op.10 no.3. I don't know why they changed its title in the game, but I like it far more than the real _Farewell_ Chopin wrote, so I don't mind at all xD I also kept _Farewell_ as the music's title because it's important for the story.

Anyways, you should go listen to it, it's truly a beautiful piece.

I hope you enjoyed this and please review, it would make me so very happy! owo Have a nice day all!


	2. Second movement

**A/N:** Yay! I finally got to finish chapter two! Before anything else, I wanted to tell you all that **Pirate123** made me a wonderful drawing about the scene where Flynn teaches Yuri how to play the piano. It's a marvellous artwork, so go see it! The link is in my profile owo

And now, since you've been waiting for it for quite some time, I won't make you wait any longer ;p See you down there!

**Disclaimer: **Each and every characters that are from the world of Vesperia belong to Namco. Otherwise, they're usually historical characters that I've tweaked ;p

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**Second movement**

The next morning, Yuri woke up to the sound of knocking on the door. With a groan, he turned over in his bed, trying to ignore it and go back to sleep. He did not know what time it was, but it was far too early for him to get up yet. He was still tired, especially since he did not sleep so well during the night. He was so furious at and worried about Flynn that he woke up every hour or so, making his slumber a rather confusing one where rest definitely was not a part of it. The sudden thought of Flynn reminded the dark haired man how the former suddenly fell ill the previous evening and how he definitely should not get up. If the knocking kept up, the pianist was sure to go answer the door. With a resigned sigh, Yuri sat in his bed, running a hand through his long strands to half comb their dishevelled look. His eyes searched for the stick he laid against the wall the previous day and grabbed it once he found it before he made his way to the entrance, where the knocking had not stopped. On the contrary, it seemed to be more insistent now. This was putting him in a bad mood. Who could be visiting at such an hour?

When he opened the door, he was met by the sight of a woman smaller than he was, her long and wavy chocolate hair tied in a ponytail. Her eyes the same colour as her hair stared apologetically at Yuri as she nervously grabbed the fabric of her marine long skirt, part of her uniform, labelling her as the errand girl working for Flynn.

"I'm sorry, Yuri. I forgot my key," she apologized in a small voice. Yuri placed a hand on his hip and sighed heavily, his annoyance melting into discouragement. This girl was so absent-minded; it was a wonder why the pianist still let her do the job.

"Again? Victoria, this is seriously starting to get too much. I already told you many times, what if Flynn and I can't answer you? You know it's important that you bring the errands during morning, that's why Flynn gave you a key," Yuri chastised, moving on the side to let the girl named Victoria enter with a few bags she left on the floor as she knocked. She squirmed uncomfortably under his disappointed gaze and turned to face the dark haired man to apologize yet again as she walked backwards.

"I'm really, really sorry Yuri. Please don't tell Mr. Chopin. I'll try even harder, I prom– ack!"

Obviously, because she was not looking where she was headed, she hit a desk in the hallway and the vase lying on top swayed dangerously. Yuri's eyes widened and he quickly went to catch it as it fell towards the floor. He managed to save it, thanks to the tip of his fingers, but he hissed loudly in pain and quickly put the vase down to grab his leg. In his hurry to catch the object, he'd put weight on his leg and now it hurt like hell. God, this was definitely not his morning and he could feel irritation slowly building up inside him again. He could see Victoria's eyes were wide as saucers and she kneeled beside him, flailing.

"I-I'm sorry! Yuri, are you alright? Where are you hurt?" she asked in worry, but the other man merely glared at her in response.

"I'm fine," he answered coldly. "Just go put the bags in the kitchen and _look where you're going_."

She flinched at his tone as guilt shone in her chocolate irises before she grabbed the bags once more and did as she was asked, this time really making sure not to slip up. Yuri sighed softly, regretting talking to her like that. Victoria was clumsy, but she was not a bad girl. She did not deserve to be subject of his bad mood. Besides, now that he thought about it, it might not be a bad thing that she forgot her key and woke Yuri up. That way, he could ask her to go fetch a doctor for Flynn. The long haired man did not know how the musician would be feeling after a night of rest, but he wanted to make sure that he would be all right none the less. He entered the kitchen where the errand girl was currently placing bottles of milk inside the ice box[1] which was freshly iced – thankfully, the man bringing the ice never forgot his key – and leaned on the doorway.

"Look, I'm sorry Victoria. I'm a bit of in a bad mood this morning. I didn't mean to be mad at you like that," he apologized. The brunette turned around and smiled brightly at Yuri. She was a really cheerful girl.

"It's okay, I should be the one apologizing. I almost broke a vase after all, and you got hurt because of it." Well, technically, it was not because of it, but Yuri was not about to enter into details.

"Let's just not think about it anymore. I have a favour to ask of you." She perked up, and Yuri knew that it meant she was listening. "Flynn's not been feeling well since last night and I'm not really able to go get a doctor. Would you mind go fetch one for him? If you're too busy with work, though, just forget about it."

She shook her head and smiled. "If I can be of help, I'll do it. I can manage to squeeze that errand between all my others, especially if Mr. Chopin is not feeling well," she agreed and the dark haired man smiled at her.

Victoria was a really nice girl and, despite her clumsiness, Yuri knew that Flynn would not be able to do much if she was not around. He thanked the brunette who returned to work. He decided to leave her alone and go check on how the pianist was doing. The door to his room was closed, but thankfully not locked, and so Yuri opened it silently, not wanting to wake his friend up if he was still asleep. He realised his hunch was good as his eyes adjusted to the darkness inside and he saw the musician's sleeping form lying in bed. His eyes were closed and his breathing was low and even. However, Yuri realised with worry that it was wheezing, making it almost painful to hear. The dark haired man could not tell if it was worst than last night, but it definitely did not seem better.

Slowly, he reached for the bed and gently sat on the mattress next to Flynn's body. He did not wake up even with the shift of the mattress, which made Yuri smile in concern. Flynn was usually a light sleeper. That Yuri was able to move around without waking the blonde meant that the latter was really out of it. Without realising it, the long haired man raised his hand to gently stroke the blonde strands. He slipped the most rebellious ones behind Flynn's ears, his fingers barely touching the skin, as though he was doing something forbidden. He then moved his forefinger across the pianist's cheek, running it down to the latter's chin, his gaze focused in some sort of trance. Yuri was fascinated by the musician's soft skin, but most of all, he was fascinated by his beauty. Flynn was handsome, especially when sleeping – even when he was not feeling well. Yuri only realised what he was thinking when the other stirred and his eyes fluttered open. Gasping silently, the dark haired man removed his hand quickly, scared to be caught. The pianist did not realise what was going on and merely laid confused blue irises on his friend.

"Hmm... Yuri?" The inquired one noticed how Flynn's voice was hoarse and a bit weak, only adding to the former's worry. "What are you doing here?"

"Morning to you too," Yuri rolled his eyes with a smirk. "I came to check up on you. How're you feeling?" Flynn smiled as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand before a light and short coughing fit ceased him.

"I've been better," he finally answered in a few puffs of breath. "But I'll be fine. I'm just surprised you came to see me. I was sure you'd be so furious at me, you would avoid me as much as possible," the pianist confessed, closing his eyes to hide the hurt shining inside as he turned his head away from Yuri.

The latter was reminded the events of the previous night and Flynn's words echoed in his mind once again. _I can't. I can't, I'm sorry._ A speckle of anger flared up inside him at the memory, but Yuri found that as hard as he wanted to be mad at Flynn, he could not. The dark haired man inwardly cursed at himself and cursed at the musician at the same time. He simply could not believe how his worry for his friend overpowered the need for his lost memories. Because Flynn was right. Yuri felt that, in normal times, he would have ignored the blonde and avoided him, too furious at being refused his memories – which anyone would find normal. However, the fact that the pianist was sick served in quelling the long haired man's anger. Flynn was... more important. Why though? This did not make any sense! What was really Flynn to Yuri? What was Yuri to Flynn? This was just too much!

"Don't be so full of yourself! I'm still angry at you for not even telling me the most important thing to me. It's just that I know you're sick, so I can't possibly leave you alone." His tone, even though harsh, held less biting than it should have and Yuri was sure that the blonde noticed as well. The musician smiled a strained smile at his friend.

"I'm sorry, Yuri," he whispered earnestly, which only fuelled the concerned one's irritation.

"Don't. Just don't. If you're just going to apologize and say nothing else, than just shut up about it. It can't be helped anyway since you won't say a word, right? I'll just have to find a way to remember on my own," Yuri cut the other's apology, fists balling.

He hated this, hated knowing that someone knew possibly everything about him while he was kept in complete darkness. It was unfair. Why was it so important for him not to remember? Because that was obviously what Flynn wanted. Otherwise, he would tell Yuri everything.

Silence settled between the two, both deep in thoughts. Tension was building and, soon, the dark haired man could not take it anymore. He needed to change the subject.

"You finished composing?" he inquired about the piano piece Flynn had been working on for the past week and a half.

After all, if the musician found him the day before, it meant that he was finished with his work and thus was not in his focused state where nothing else mattered but his music. Now that he thought about it, Yuri was glad that Flynn finished just in time. Otherwise, he knew that he would have been killed back there. He was also lucky that the blonde also searched in the commoners' quarter. Yuri wondered how much time the pianist had been searching before he found the raven male.

Flynn nodded as he looked back at his friend. "Yes, it's done and ready to go to my editors. I hope to get a good price out of it," he answered.

Another part of the pianist's job, Yuri realised. Of course. He would not be writing music pieces in such frenzy if it did not help him make a living. Well, maybe he would a little. It was Flynn they were speaking of. From the little time Yuri knew him, he did not find hard to believe that the musician was the type to not want to stop something until it was done and done well. It was a good aspect, but maybe it was bordering excessive on Flynn's part...

"Nice. What's it called?"

"Grand Waltz Brilliant. I'd tell you the opus, but I doubt you would understand for now, so I'll spare you until I'll teach you most of the useful music terms," Flynn told with an amused smile, especially when Yuri raised an eyebrow. The latter seemed to doubt that such information was even remotely useful.

"Trust me, you'll want to know at some point. There are too many pieces that have the same names: _sonatas_, _waltzes_, _marches_ and others like that. And yes, it is normal that they use the same names," the pianist added, going ahead of Yuri's question almost leaving the latter's lips. "They indicate which type of music they are. It's rather rare that a composer will give an original name to a song, and even if he does, it's usually a name added to the one of the music's type."

It seemed that, despite his words, Flynn was still giving Yuri a music course.

"Huh... like your _farewell_ song, I guess? What type is it?" The dark haired man wondered, getting interested in the conversation, mostly now that it included the music he badly wanted to learn. Music was Flynn's world, and it was a world Yuri eagerly wished to be a part of. And for that, the most he could learn, the better it was.

... Wait, did he just really think that? He wished to be part of Flynn's world? What did that even mean? It made no sense whatsoever! He was mad at Flynn; he was not supposed to contemplate such idiotic ideas! "An _etude_," the blonde stopped Yuri's train of thoughts.

"_Etudes_ are designed for practicing certain technical skills. Though I consider _farewell_ to be a bit more special than that," the pianist finished evasively, not adding anything else, leaving the raven male irked. Flynn was keeping more secrets from him.

This time, however, Yuri did not comment on it. It was about his friend's life, not his own. Flynn had the right to keep things for himself, even if it left a bad taste in Yuri's mouth. Just like the time he discovered that very song, his heart told him it hated the fact that someone could have been this important to the musician; more important than Yuri himself.

Ugh! What was with him today?

He was saved from thinking anything stupider when there was a knock on the opened bedroom door. Both men turned their heads to the source of the sound and saw the same doctor who took care of Yuri the previous night. Victoria had been quick with that errand – surely because she had other things to attend to – and the raven male was grateful for it. The latter grabbed his stick and stood from the bed to leave the room. This way, Flynn would have some privacy as he would get examined.

Yuri took that time to go into the pianist's study and sit on the piano's bench. Since the moment his friend started composing, Yuri was not able to access the study to practice. Now that Flynn was finished and was now lying in bed, the long haired man would finally be able to play. As his fingers lightly brushed the keys, he inhaled deeply to gain concentration. He missed the feeling of the smooth ivory under his fingertips. Slowly, Yuri started with the _do_ scale, before he gradually moved on to harder techniques he learnt, then to songs of a book Flynn told him he would be able to practice both his note reading and techniques. The raven male tried out new music pieces, playing so slowly that he did not recognize any melody. It irritated him, but he never gave up, wanting to get better, even when after so many mistakes, he wanted to slam the keys and push the piano away. This took _way_ too much patience.

"Not bad. I would've lost patience ages ago," someone voiced Yuri's thoughts and the latter started, his fingers playing wrong notes that rang such a false sound it made him wince. He spun around to see the doctor coming his way, an amused expression on his face. The dark haired man sighed deeply, attempting to calm his hammering heart.

"Mind not scaring me like that next time?" he requested. "My heart didn't take it too well." The doctor worded an apology as he walked to the low table near the couch, the novice pianist observing him putting down his case on the furniture. "How is he?" Yuri inquired, the worry for Flynn now back. He really hoped it was not anything too serious.

"These breathing problems are frequent as of late, but he should be fine with lots of rest, rich food and hot packs[2] on his chest to help his lungs. I'm still working on finding what is plaguing him, unfortunately, but I doubt it is anything too serious if it goes away with my treatments," the specialist explained.

Despite the words, Yuri pursed his lips. He did not like to hear that this was a recurring sickness for Flynn. What if the doctor was wrong and it _was_ serious? Maybe it was merely developing slowly... No, no he should not think that. Flynn would be fine, end of story.

"Come here. I'll change your bandages and check on your wound while I'm here. Victoria told me you got hurt," the other man in the room stopped Yuri's train of thoughts.

The dark haired man sighed, grabbed his stick, and then walked the distance between the piano bench and the couch where he sat. The doctor slid his pant leg upward and removed the bandages before he checked on the wound. When he deemed it was fine, he wrapped new bandages around it.

"Well, I'll take my leave now," the doctor announced as he stood up. "Remember not to put weight on your leg and remind Mr. Chopin that he should take it easy for the next few days." Yuri nodded, which was enough for the other man who left with a last goodbye.

When he was gone, Yuri suddenly heard his stomach growl. Right, he needed to eat and so did Flynn. Only thing was, it would be hard to cook while not putting much weight on his leg. The long haired man sighed as he hung his head in defeat. There was nothing he could do about it. He was the only one able to cook, literally and figuratively speaking, and he did not have the possibility to get someone to bring food or something – he had no money and he did not know where to search. The only option left was for him to cook. So, without another thought, he grabbed his stick and stood up, walking to the kitchen to fix Flynn and him something to eat.

* * *

"Hey, Yuri! These are really good!"

Yuri, who was currently preparing dinner, raised his head as Flynn entered the kitchen. A week passed since the time the pianist fell sick, and now he was feeling much better. It was the same for Yuri whose stitches had been removed and who did not need to use his stick anymore.

The long haired man suddenly realised that Flynn held a notebook in his hand. The blonde's eyes were glued to the content and, when Yuri realised which notebook exactly the pianist was holding, the former's eyes widened and he both paled and flushed in anger at the same time. What was Flynn doing with _his_ notebook? Did he have no sense of privacy?

"The hell, Flynn?" Yuri exclaimed in outrage, circling the counter where he was preparing his food to meet up with the musician in a few furious strides, before trying to tear the notebook from the other's hand. The latter skilfully pivoted on his feet and raised his hand, making Yuri miss and only grab air. The long haired man growled in frustration, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Flynn, _give that back_!" he warned dangerously. "Don't you have any shame? That's private you know! I thought you of all people would be able to respect that!"

Those words were enough to make the pianist feel guilty and his face fell. So did his hand and Yuri was finally able to grab the notebook forcefully before returning to the counter where he slammed the journal on the hard surface and resumed cutting the vegetables, a bit more violently this time. A pitiful look crossed the blonde's features as he took a couple of steps forward towards his friend.

"Yuri..." he called out softly, but the concerned one ignored him, his eyes never leaving the knife swinging up and down dangerously for the fingers that were too near.

"Yuri," Flynn tried again, louder this time. Knowing that the musician would not leave him alone until he looked up, the dark haired man snapped his head up in a glare.

"What?" he barked in annoyance.

Considering he was not paying attention to his knife anymore, a burning pain suddenly shot through his fingers and he violently hissed as he removed his now bloodied fingers in a quick motion. Yuri also dropped his utensil, which clanged on the counter. Before he could put his wounded finger in his mouth, however, Flynn covered the distance left between the two and grabbed his friend's hand, examining it.

"Flynn, let me go!" Yuri ordered in irritation.

He was really irked by the pianist and wanted him out of the kitchen. Despite that, the blonde ignored the other and did quite the opposite of letting him go. He was the one to put Yuri's finger into his own mouth, sucking gently on the blood and lapping the skin in careful movements. That was enough to send the dark haired man's brain overdrive as his face flared up in less than a second. He could not comprehend what was happening before his eyes. His heart was hammering in his chest and he could not help but think that the sight in front of him was quite sensual. Oh God, what kind of ideas was his mind creating again? This was ridiculous! Flynn was his _friend_. They only knew each other for a couple of _weeks_ – well, in Yuri's case. He could not, for the love of God, think such... perverted thoughts about Flynn!

He was brought back to reality when the pianist finally let go of his finger to examine it a second time. It was still bleeding, but far less profusely.

"It looks worst than it is, but we should still get you bandaged," Flynn advised as he lightly tugged on Yuri's arm to make him come to the bathroom. The latter's brain still felt too fried for him to protest and he followed in silence, still pensive about the mental images he viewed moments ago. He was so confused; his feelings did not make any sense in the least.

Flynn searched for bandages while Yuri's finger was put under the running water in the sink. As he rummaged through the boxes inside the cupboard, Flynn used that time to apologize, just as he wanted to do earlier.

"Yuri, I'm sorry for reading in your notebook. I know it was bad. The thing is, you left it open in my study. I know it's not an excuse, but I didn't know it was your notebook when I saw it at first and, when I checked, I accidentally read a few words. I knew it was not mine at that moment, but before I knew it, I was sucked in by what was written. You're really good at writing stories, Yuri. I really wanted to read more."

As the pianist spoke, the long haired man averted his eyes, blushing and pouting at the same time. He felt pride swell inside his chest at the thought that Flynn liked what he wrote, but at the same time, knowing that someone else read his private stories made him embarrassed. This was only something he did to pass the time when he could not or did not want to play the piano.

"Did you consider using your writing for a career?" Flynn suddenly suggested.

This made Yuri's gaze snap up in the former's direction, wide as saucers, obviously believing it was a ridiculous idea. He was about to tell just that, but then another thought crossed his mind and made him rethink the idea. A career? Would this not be a good way to gain some income and help Flynn monetarily? Not that the pianist really needed it, but Yuri was already feeling very bad for staying in the musician's house without doing much but cooking for the both of them and do a bit of cleaning – though that was usually taken care of by the maid who came every week or so.

"I have contacts in the writing domain. A few of my friends are working there. I could always show them what you write. I'm sure they would find good material in them," the blonde continued to try convincing his friend. Yuri was now seriously considering it. What was the harm in trying? If he was so scared that his stories were bad, then the worst that could happen was that Flynn's friends would tell him that he was no good.

"Okay, I'll try," Yuri finally agreed and his cheeks reddened slightly at the other's beaming face.

Why was Flynn always either so handsome or too cute? His faces were always enough to make Yuri crack and let the pianist win. This was frustrating, yet the dark haired man did not really mind that much. Making Flynn happy was fun, after all.

"But I still find it embarrassing," the dark haired man mumbled, voicing out his reluctance. "People knowing I did that is kinda awkward."

Something suddenly lit up in the pianist's eyes, as though Yuri's words triggered an idea in his head he was too pleased with. Yuri did not understand what it was, however, and he found it suspicious.

"Then use a penname," Flynn suggested, the glint of satisfaction not leaving his eyes. Even though the long haired man now knew the blonde's idea, he still could not comprehend why the latter was having such a reaction over it. "No one will know who you are if you do. It's a method quite used by authors nowadays. How about it?"

It was a good idea, Yuri realised. It would be easier to put up with the embarrassment and he would be able to make an income and help Flynn out. All the more, he would be doing something he enjoyed for work. It was definitely not a bad deal.

"Yeah, I like that." Yuri grinned as the blonde released his hand after not only bandaging it, but also washing off the remaining blood stains on the skin. It landed on the dark haired man's hip as he began thinking up on a name. "I'd need something that has a nice ring to it, that feels catchy."

Flynn chuckled as he walked towards the exit. This made Yuri realise that he still needed to prepare dinner, and so he followed the musician out of the bathroom to the kitchen where his vegetables lay forgotten on the counter.

"It doesn't need to be flashy, you know," the pianist said as he sat at the table, watching Yuri prepare dinner. "I think that something modest would suit better."

The dark haired man pulled out a face at that. "No way! It would be boring if it wasn't anything amazing! It needs to attract attention if I want any of my books to be sold!" he protested, now moving on to prepare the meat that he took out from the ice box. Flynn chuckled.

"The title is what will attract attention, not the author's name. If yours is too flashy, it might outshine the title. You want people to buy your books for the story, not for your name, right?" A gentle smile spread on the pianist's lips as he saw the pout on Yuri's own. It was definitely a cute sight. "Besides, you said publishing anything made you embarrassed. If you get a flashy name, people might want to know even more who you are. I think you should stick with something modest."

Yuri heaved a sigh. He hated it when Flynn was right like that.

"All right, genius. Come up with something, then," Yuri growled in annoyance, though it was not really that deep.

"How about George Sand[3]?" The newly made writer pondered over it. He was not quite sure. He did not like, nor did he dislike it. He felt neutral over it. He would need more convincing.

"I'm not so sure..." he trailed off, now moving on to the hearth where he started the fire that would be used in heating the Dutch oven. He rolled his sleeves, not wanting to dirty his clothes too much and knowing that it would get rather hot in a few minutes.

"You know, George is as common a name as Yuri is in Russia. As for Sand, I thought of it as a spin-off of the French name Sandeau. This would give your surname a feel between English and French, and I thought it might meet your requirement of "catchy" while still being modest. So?" The convincing was rather good. Now that he knew the reasons behind the name, Yuri could not help but to start liking it a little. At least, it had a good flow.

"I'll think about it," was the long haired man's answer, although both men knew very well he would take it in the end. That reply was just for show. Flynn shook his head in discouragement as he chuckled. At least, he knew he had won in the end.

* * *

After dinner, Yuri and Flynn both installed themselves in the latter's study, one working in his notebook, noting recent events that occurred in the previous days, and coming up with ideas on what to write, while the other took care of gathering his things to prepare himself for the piano lessons he would give near the end of afternoon. A knock on the door interrupted their concentration and both looked up in the direction of the sound. Flynn was the one to exit the room to answer the door, but Yuri followed close behind, a bit curious as to who could be coming at this hour – the only regular visitors usually coming in the morning. When the pianist opened the door, he was greeted by a tall man, at least a head above Flynn, with mid light brown hair landing on each side of his cheeks in a light puffed up fashion. His big hazelnut eyes were twinkling in excitement as he took in the sight of the musician, a smile stretched on his lips.

"Ah, Franz! What a nice surprise! Come in, come in!" Flynn exclaimed, his lips now tugged in a smile of his own. He moved to the side to let his friend enter before closing the door behind him. "What brings you here today?"

Somehow, as Yuri observed them, the latter could not help but feel bitter at the newcomer. He did not know him yet, but he did not particularly enjoy this sort of bubbly personality. And yet, something told him that he would have not cared in the least, in usual occasions. Why was it that this man bothered him, then?

"Well, I've come back from my trip, Chopino. Don't tell me you have forgotten?"

Something snapped inside Yuri as he heard the nickname and one of his eye twitched in pure annoyance. Chopino? Who did this guy think he was, calling Flynn like that? It was too ridiculous of a name! The only nickname that fitted Flynn was... Flynn! At least, it had class; it did not feel idiotic and puerile! Yuri now knew what it was that made him despise that Franz guy: he was too close to Flynn! The long haired man believed that the way that man changed his friend's name was too disrespectful of the gentle and collected personality the pianist had.

"Ah, that's right! You went to England for a few concerts, right? How was it?" the blonde inquired with interest.

Contrary to Yuri, he did not seem to mind the nickname at all, as though he were completely fine with it. The raven haired male could not comprehend why; _he _would definitely be irked if someone played with his name like that.

"All in due time, my dear Chopinissimo," Franz waved off Flynn's question with his hand, and another chord snapped harder inside Yuri as he did his very best to stay calm and keep silent. If he lashed at the guy, Flynn would not forgive him. "I came mostly because I was a bit worried. I entrusted Victoria with a letter that she was supposed to give to you last week, but you never replied, and so I wondered if you had either not received it or were unwell."

At Franz's words, Flynn frowned in puzzlement, trying to remember any letter he might have received from the girl during the previous week. Yet, the more he thought, the less he could find.

The blonde sighed, resting his forehead in his hand. "That girl is too airheaded for her own good. I'm sorry, Franz, I didn't receive your letter," the pianist announced. He was about to ask what the content was, but Yuri beat him into talking. He needed to defend that poor girl since he knew she had done her job properly that time.

"Actually, that letter is surely under your music papers, on your desk in your study," he told and the other two both turned their heads in his direction. Flynn raised an eyebrow and Yuri explained himself. "You were in your composing frenzy, it's no wonder you never saw it. I placed it on your desk, but I'm sure you were too engrossed in your work, so you must not have seen it at first and then put papers above it, so you never realised it was there. I'm a bit surprised you didn't find it after a week, though, knowing how of a clean freak you usually are, Flynn."

The long haired man chuckled inwardly as the musician rolled his eyes at the teasing. But what pleased him the most was the look of confusion and displease in that Franz guy's eyes. Yuri added his own version of Frederic's nickname at the end of his sentence on purpose, wanting to entice the newcomer's attention on it. Yuri would show that guy that he was certainly not the only one close to Flynn and that this nickname was by far the best one of all.

The brunette turned his head towards the blonde. "I didn't know you had company, Frederic. Mind presenting me to your friend?" The pianist did not really notice it, but the tallest man's smile was a bit strained.

Yuri drew great satisfaction in it, especially when he did not use those ridiculous nicknames a third time. The long haired man could not help but think it was one to zero for him. The only nickname he would accept was Flynn and only Yuri could use it.

The blonde turned his eyes to his tallest friend, a bit of unease in his eyes and discreet gestures. He also seemed to be wondering how he should answer, which Yuri found weird. What was wrong?

"Ah, right. Franz, this is my friend George Sand. He came to Paris for a while, and so I offered him lodgement for his stay," Flynn lied.

Yuri's eyes widened in shock before he scrunched his nose and his features hardened in anger. What? What had Flynn dared say? Surely Yuri heard wrong. Flynn could not have possibly told the other man his _penname_, a name he wanted _private_, right? But the way the blonde averted his eyes from the dark haired man and the way he seemed to fidget was enough to tell Yuri otherwise. The latter, in his outrage, failed to notice the look Franz was throwing him, one that seemed to understand at least a bit of what was going on.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sand. I am Franz Liszt, fellow pianist and friend to Chopino." He made sure to accentuate the last word, a small amused smile gracing his lips. "We've known each other for a while. We are, after all, musicians of the same calibre," the tallest man finished with smugness, as though Yuri could not possibly think that he was more important.

This was enough for the raven haired male to snap, though his poker face was carefully held in place as he plastered a cocky smile on his lips, one hand moving to his hip.

"Yeah, same here. Too bad I haven't heard of you, though," he shot back, snickering inwardly when the other's face fell a little. It was not for long, however, because the smugness returned in full force.

"Are you truly sure? My name has been travelling quite a lot throughout Europe, so I'm sure only uncultured people lacking taste could not have heard of me."

Oh, so he was playing this game? Yuri would play along just fine. He was certainly not about to back down now!

"Well, I might admit that I'm not the best in music, but it's at least not that big of a fault such as, say, having a swollen head that would make me an insensitive bastard or anything. I hope you don't happen to have this kind of people in your entourage, Franz, otherwise it would be so very bad for your reputation."

The mocking glance Yuri threw the other was enough to make his point cross and Liszt – Yuri was not about to be familiar in his thoughts and keep calling him by his first name – turned red, eyes narrowing dangerously. He was about to retort, but Flynn cut him to the chase.

"Y-George!" he exclaimed with reproach in his gaze. This reminded Yuri that he was mad at Flynn foremost and so he looked away in a bored fashion, shrugging.

"Who?" he asked nonchalantly, making the blonde go livid.

Ah, so he definitely did not want other people to know his real name. Yuri was starting to understand what that glint of satisfaction had been that morning when Flynn told him he should find a nickname. That must have been the latter's plan all along; for Yuri to use a different name around people. Why though, he had no idea. What he did know, however, was that it pissed him off.

Flynn strode towards Yuri and grabbed his arm before flashing an apologetic smile to his other friend. "I'm sorry, Franz, I need to speak with George here for a minute. We'll be back."

On those words, despite the raven haired male's protest, the blonde forcefully dragged the former across the hallway down to the study where Flynn pushed him inside and closed the door behind them. Yuri did not lose time in lashing at the musician at that point.

"What the _hell_, Flynn? What the hell is going on in that head of yours? I was sure we made it clear this morning when we agreed on that _penname_ that it was supposed to be just that, a penname that no one would know about. Its purpose is to let me write without having to be known, without being labelled as the author of my books. And you just went and ruined that, stating clearly my _penname_. What's wrong with my name? Is it ugly or something? Is it not to your _liking_?"

Flynn balled his fists and looked straight at his friend, eyes unwavering.

"Please, Yuri, I have my reasons. You have to trust me," the blonde almost pleaded, gaze boring into the other's. It did not impress the later, however, far from it.

"Trust you? You're asking me to _trust you_? You're hiding everything from me and now you go and use publicly what I wanted private. And you want me to trust you? I'm sorry, you'll have to understand that I'm having a hard time doing it. So if you want me to trust you, please _enlighten me_," the dark haired man spat venomously, feeling on the verge of punching the pianist. This was getting more than frustrating.

Flynn sighed and his resolve melted to guilt. "I'm sorry, Yuri. It's just that I'm worried. You've been attacked last week and I don't know why. I also don't know if it will happen again. So I thought that the best solution was for you to be known as someone else. I know you'll want to get out of this place at some point to just go outside. I thought that if people knew you by another name, there would be fewer chances for you to be the victim of casualties. That's why I wanted you to use a penname; I want you to be known as George Sand."

The explanation was not enough to calm Yuri down. Quite the opposite, he felt even more irked by it. He glared murderously at his friend.

"Damn it, Flynn! I don't want to be known as someone else! I'm Yuri goddamn Lowell! No. One. Else! I don't care if someone's after me, I'll face them head on. Don't usurp my identity from me, the only thing I am certain of!" he almost yelled, hurt shining through his irises.

Because that was what he was the most: hurt. Using a different name felt like he would be stepping on the only memory he had left, something he wanted to cherish dearly. Flynn definitely crossed a line again and Yuri hated it. He was starting to have so many doubts about his friend, and the mere thought sent waves of pain in his chest, constricting his heart agonisingly.

The pianist closed his eyes, remorse written all over his features as he realised the impact of his friend's words.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, loud enough for the both to hear. "I was sure I was doing something good to protect you, but I did not realise it would hurt you so. I'm sorry, Yuri."

He sounded so sincere that Yuri found he could not stay mad at the pianist. Not that the raven haired male ever was able to stay furious at his friend for long. He sighed loudly and took a couple of steps forward, stopping next to Flynn without looking at him.

"It's... fine. Just promise me you won't do it again."

"Never. You have my word," Flynn replied with unwavering eyes and, when Yuri finally looked up at him, he knew it was the truth. The long haired man gave a small smile and pointed at the desk near the piano where all the music sheets were neatly stacked together.

"You must've grabbed the letter without knowing it and stacked it amongst your sheets. I'm sure it's still there, I know I put it on your desk," Yuri indicated and the blonde gave him a nod of thanks, relief slowly washing away the guilt in his eyes.

It was clear that he knew the raven haired male forgave him and he was glad for it. As he went to his desk, Yuri left the room and headed for the dining room where he was met with Liszt. Yuri grimaced inwardly, not wanting to have anything to do with him. Ah, but he needed to at least tell him his real name.

Before he could do so, however, the tall pianist beat him to the bush. "Ah, Mr. Sand, I was wondering, would it be all right for me to call you George? Mr. Sand feels too formal to say. You would not mind, would you?"

Yuri scrunched his nose in annoyance. Somehow, the fact that this guy was asking such questions felt off. There was something about it that definitely did not please Yuri.

"I'm not – " the latter started, but was cut yet again.

"Perfect! George it is, then! I'm glad you accepted." Liszt flashed the dark haired man a bright smile. As he looked at it, though, Yuri could not help but find it even more off than the pianist's words.

"Hey, listen when people are talking!" he exclaimed with outrage, glaring at the brunette. He could not wait for that man to get out of this place so that Yuri could have nothing to do with him anymore.

"Yes, _George_?"

That was when Yuri finally understood what was so off. Liszt _knew_. He knew that George was not the raven haired male's real name. He must have heard their conversation, or at least, snippets of it. Despite that, he would continue to call Yuri with his penname. He was doing it on _purpose_. It might be to either annoy the hell out of the long haired man or because he wanted to help with Flynn's plan. Either way, the tall pianist would be sticking to it.

Yuri had a really bad feeling about all this.

* * *

Flynn watched uncertainty fill his friend's onyx irises while he was waiting for a reply, standing in the kitchen's entryway.

"Are you really sure, Flynn? You'll be with your friends, meaning with other pianists, won't you? Wouldn't it be better if I stayed behind? I mean, won't they think I'm intruding?" Yuri finally spoke up, doubtful.

The blonde smiled as he shook his head. A few moments prior, he came to Yuri with a request: Flynn wanted the latter to accompany him to a salon. The musician usually went to these kind of soirees with friends once a week or so, but had neglected them in the recent weeks because of his composing frenzy and because he was occupied with other things. Since it had been a long time, Flynn was in the mood to go, but he wanted Yuri to accompany him. It would be more fun that way and it would give the dark haired man a chance to go out.

"It's all right; a salon's prior activity is not playing the piano. We mostly converse between each other in these soirees. You would certainly not be intruding. Please, Yuri? I would really like you to come! It would give you a chance to hear other pianists, other styles that you might like. You'll even hear Franz! He's a talented musician, after all," the blonde insisted, eyes almost pleading.

It would not take much more for Yuri to crack, especially with that expression thrown at him; if he refused, the raven haired male knew that he would receive a look of a kicked puppy and it would just send waves of guilt in his chest. Damn Flynn and his unconscious ways of convincing!

"Fine..." his tone was reluctant despite the fact he accepted.

Not only did the word _salon_ not appeal him in the least, knowing it surely was a formal event, but when the blonde mentioned their prior visitor's name, Yuri winced inwardly. He really was not in the mood to see that man, especially not after what occurred that afternoon. When Yuri had understood Liszt's plan, he immediately turned away in anger and stomped back to his own room where he closed the door and worked in his notebook. Since then, the future novelist had not heard about their guest and the latter left without a goodbye, which Yuri was glad for. It did not change the fact that what happened harassed his mind all afternoon. How would things turn out? What was the tall pianist's purpose in calling him George when he knew it was not Yuri's name? This could not be anything good and Yuri almost feared to find out.

When Yuri left his bedroom for the kitchen to prepare supper, Liszt was already gone and Flynn did not look troubled whatsoever. It meant that he had no idea of what had occurred between the other pianist and Yuri. The latter preferred not saying anything, thinking that he would certainly not see the brunette so much, and thus there was no point in telling his host. But now that the latter mentioned his fellow pianist, the raven haired male was not so sure it was a good idea to leave Flynn in the dark. Maybe he would know something.

"Great!" the blonde exclaimed happily. "We usually meet at ten thirty, so be ready by then, all right?"

Maybe Yuri was worrying too much. Maybe it was merely a prank on Liszt's part. It was best if he kept everything to himself for now. He would see how things went tonight.

They were to meet with Flynn's friends in one of the private lounges of the renowned Camille Pleyel. Apparently, that man was a great friend to the blonde, and was also the one who supplied the pianist with his grand pianos. As they walked to their destination, Yuri listened with interest as Flynn praised the professional's work, saying that he never, in all his life, played on pianos with such quality in the sound and material. The musician's speech was interesting and the raven haired male hung on his every word, but what he found himself most fascinated about were the blonde's expressions. There was a fond smile gracing Flynn's lips and his deep sky blue irises were twinkling in delight. His dimples were accentuated just barely when his smile was most sincere. He would readjust his hat often as it slowly inched towards his eyes because of the movements of his head.

Yuri only realised he was staring when a pair of sapphires bore into his onyxes. At that moment, the raven haired male started and looked away quickly, face reddening in embarrassment. What was he doing, staring at Flynn like that? What was with him? And he should definitely not get started with the thoughts he just had towards the pianist. It was more than confusing and it irked the long haired man not to understand what was wrong with him.

They arrived at their destination, a grand manor that could contain at least four normal houses. Yuri winced inwardly in disgust. He just knew it would be full of _nobles_ and that he would be bored to death. He hoped that, at the very least, Flynn would either stay with him most of the time or that he would play a lot. It would be the only distraction Yuri knew would make the evening bearable. He sighed as they went through the entryway and were immediately greeted by who the dark haired male guessed to be Camille Pleyel. The stout moustached man was richly clothed in black, his adjusted tailcoat making him look slimmer. He presented a white gloved hand to both Flynn and Yuri with a flashing smile. He was warm and cheerful, and Yuri wondered if it was real or a facade. Though from the look of genuine happiness on Flynn's face, the raven haired male believed that Pleyel was one of the rare nobles to not be some sort of snobbish creature. As they left the entryway to be guided to the lounge, both music connoisseurs spoke eagerly of the piano maker's new instruments, leaving Yuri alone with his thoughts. Well, this was bound to be a boring evening...

He realised that music was playing when they entered the new room, a piano melody to be exact. It was rather good – though not as good as Flynn – and Yuri wondered who could be playing. When he spotted the same man who came to his host's house that afternoon, the raven haired male's expression darkened. Flynn told him that Liszt was a talented pianist, but Yuri could not help but hope that it was not the case. How could someone so full of himself could play so well? It should not be permitted. The brunette suddenly spotted the newcomers and stopped his playing at that moment with a smirk playing on his lips. It was obviously thrown at Yuri because the latter realised that Flynn had not yet seen his fellow pianist. Great, this was just great. What else would the tall musician do to annoy the hell out of the dark haired man?

"Ah, George! It's good to see that you have come. I asked Chopino if you would be coming and I feared these salons would not be of your interests, with all the cultural conversations taking place that might not be of your calibre, but it seems I was wrong!"

A vein throbbed in Yuri's temple and he balled his fists, giving a forced smile. Damn it, he wanted to punch the man so bad, but Flynn expressively told him to behave before they left the house. He would just have to fight with comebacks, even though they were not as satisfying. He was not given the chance, however, when a woman joined Liszt, gazing curiously at the raven haired male.

The women's dirty blond hair was pulled up in a complicated hairstyle with pins and ornaments to decorate them. She looked young, not over twenty-five. Her brown eyes were gentle as she stared at Yuri with politeness. She gathered each side of her long and heavy crimson puffed dress in her hands and pulled it up slightly, bowing at the same time in respect, just as the protocol required. Her outfit was decent, Yuri realised, and not opened in so many places that men would only want to stare. It looked dashing on her; the golden frills and laces on the velvety texture accentuated the clothing's elegance. As he stared at her, the raven haired male deemed that she was not of the same type of nobles that irritated him to no end. She seemed to have a head on her shoulders and was courteous. He understood now why she was Flynn's friend: it was the type of person that suited the pianist's personality. Maybe Yuri was wrong in thinking this evening was bound to be bad because of the company they would be forced to stay with during the whole time.

"Good evening. You must be George Sand, Frederic's friend, am I right? Franz spoke about you to us. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sand. I am Delphina Potocka."

Once the words left her mouth, Yuri's respect shattered to be replaced by anger at the person at fault, namely Liszt. The latter was pretending to listen to some other conversations absent-mindedly, but when he spotted the writer's glare, he smirked playfully back at him. This was more than enough. Yuri grabbed the tall musician's arm before giving a quick apologetic smile towards the lady.

"I'm sorry, we need to speak for a bit, we'll be right back," he announced before dragging Liszt away unceremoniously, receiving protests from the other party that he ignored royally.

Yuri did not really know where he was going, but he stopped in an empty room far enough not to be bothered, but not too far that the hustling and bustling of the conversations would not be heard. There, he threw the brunette in front of him, almost making him lose his balance, and the long haired man crossed his arms on his chest.

"What is wrong with you?" he demanded with venom in his voice, glaring murderously at the man he was starting to hate deeply. The latter sneered, dusting his sleeve to make sure there were not any wrinkles where Yuri grabbed him.

"What is wrong with me? I would actually say what is wrong with _you_," he retorted haughtily. However, his mocking attitude had been replaced by a serious one that Yuri did not know him capable of.

Still, the question was enough to irk him. "This makes no sense! You're the one going off, telling others a name that is not mine! And don't act as if you don't know. I know you've heard everything this afternoon," the dark haired man almost yelled, but stopped himself in time. He did not want to attract attention and make a scene. He pulled Liszt away for that reason, after all.

The pianist scoffed, his eyes narrowing as though Yuri's latest words were completely stupid.

"Of course I've heard. That's why I'm doing this," he admitted, his expression telling that this should be an obvious fact. "And let me give you some piece of advice, friend: if I were you, I would stop being concerned with the little unimportant person I am and start thinking of the other ones around me," he warned dangerously.

Yuri growled lowly, sensing like punching the man would feel really good at the moment.

"What does this have anything to do with my name?" he inquired instead, controlling himself.

"Don't play dumb with me!" Liszt exclaimed. "You said so yourself, I've heard your conversation. I _know_ you've been chased and attacked by some people. You told Frederic that you did not care if they were to come back because they heard your name around, but have you thought about Frederic at all?"

Yuri froze in place. All of his anger and irritation melted away to be replaced by cold dread. His eyes widened slowly as his mind processed what was just told. That afternoon, he had asked Flynn not to use his penname; that he would face any hardships head on and take full responsibility. But when he said that, he never considered that the blonde could be involved. If someone wanted to kill Yuri, they might hurt Flynn at the same time. They might barge into the pianist's house and go on a rampage. What if Flynn got wounded? Worst, what if he got killed? Yuri would never forgive himself. The mere thought made his heart stop and wrench in absolute pain! Damn it all, Liszt was right: he _was_ selfish! Up until now, he was thinking of no one else but him. It took him that bastard to realise how wrong he had been.

Seeing as he was not about to answer, the brunette kept talking.

"I don't know what your true relation to Frederic is, but be careful. He is an important person in this society and he is my friend. If your identity threatens him or puts him in danger, I will not be afraid to use everything against you to protect him."

Without anything else, Liszt exited the room Yuri dragged him into, leaving a guilty raven haired male behind. The latter sighed deeply and put his hand on his hip as he pondered on what to do. He hated having to use another identity than his, but he had no choice now. He needed to protect Flynn, and if it was the best option, he would use it.

When he returned in the lounge, the brunette musician was back on the piano and Flynn was currently talking with Delphina. The woman seemed a little troubled about something, but when she glanced behind the blonde's shoulder and saw Yuri, she pointed at the latter with a relieved smile. Flynn also turned around when she spoke up.

"Ah, there he is! Mr. Sand, please join us!" she asked lightly with her crystal clear voice.

Yuri saw that his friend was about to protest, and though he was happy that the pianist listened to him and wanted his real identity to be known after all, he quickly stepped in.

"I'm sorry for leaving. By the way, Delph, you should definitely call me George. I hate it when I'm called Mr. Sand, feels way too formal," Yuri recommended, and smirked when he saw her blush furiously and saw her eyes go wide as saucers.

She was definitely not used to being nicknamed as Yuri did. She would have to, anyway, or she would not enjoy her time with the raven haired male.

"Yuri!" Flynn was glaring at the dark haired man, cheeks lightly reddened in shame and eyes wide in scandal. "You are speaking to a lady of high class. Show some respect!"

Yuri would have been amused by the blonde's reaction if it was not for the fact that he just ruined his efforts by revealing his real name. He sighed inwardly in a discouraged way, annoyed that he would have to repair that error.

"Hey, what gives, calling me by my penname like that!" Yuri exclaimed and he saw the pianist's outrage melt into confusion. "I didn't think talking about using a penname would make you mix it up with my name. I'm George, remember?"

As he spoke, the writer made sure to sound amused, as though he were teasing Flynn about it. "Besides, I've been thinking about what you said this afternoon, and I think I'm going to use George Sand in the end."

Again, the words were coded, having two different meanings for Delphina and Flynn. The woman would think Yuri meant he would use his real name for his books, while the musician should understand that Yuri actually meant he would use this penname when in public. As the long haired male hoped, realisation hit the pianist's features and he frowned lightly. He obviously did not understand what occurred the change of mind and, from the way he opened his mouth, Yuri knew he was dying to know why. But this was not the place for that and he was grateful when Delphina spoke before Flynn could, preventing the writer from finding an excuse to cut the pianist.

"Oh, so you are a writer?" she asked, deeply interested in the fact.

She seemed to have recovered from the shock of being nicknamed so disrespectfully by Yuri and was not bothered much by it. On the contrary, she was being as gentle and courteous as before. "

What kind of books do you write? Do you have any releases yet? I don't remember seeing your name before, nor your penname, however." She added when Yuri nodded at her.

"No, I haven't released any books yet. I'm currently writing a suspense novel, though I'd rather not go into any details until it's finished," he replied as he watched Flynn be accosted by a man approximately in his late thirties.

Realising that the blonde would once more be occupied with other people and seeing that Delphina was interested in speaking with him, he offered her to go sit down on the sofa. She quickly agreed and followed him as they continued their conversation to the sound of the piano filling their ears.

* * *

The evening was growing late and the moon was already very high and bright from the window Yuri was staring. They must have been in this place for at least an hour and a half now, and he was starting to get bored. Flynn was still speaking with his friends, and Delphina was taken away by a man that had been presented to him as Robert Schumann – even though the latter seemed well intent on telling people that he'd rather be called Raven Schwann[4], as though it sounded better. The three of them had spoken together for a while, and Yuri learned that the other man was a pianist as well – no surprise there, really, since most of the people apparently were in this place. A glass of wine in hand, the newcomer spoke of himself a bit too highly and it was obvious he was trying to flirt with the lady next to him. The long haired man wondered if it was the alcohol or if it was that man's true nature. When Yuri turned his eyes to Delphina in a silent question, she merely smiled, and the inquirer understood that she was used to it. It still did not answer his question, but maybe it was best left unanswered.

At some point, Yuri got tired of the old man's flirtatious ways and he stepped away to the window where a bit of fresh air seeped through the glass. It felt delicious on his hot skin, as there were definitely too much people in the room, making the temperature rise drastically. As he watched the moon, the writer listened to Liszt who was _still_ playing. Of course, through the time they were here, the brunette left the instrument for a while to speak with friends – namely Flynn, and Yuri gritted his teeth at that – but in the end, he came back to play, as though the piano was exclusively his.

Not only that, the long haired man realised that the pianist was actually playing Flynn's music. It bothered the writer, who believed that no one but the blonde could play his own pieces, and he was even more annoyed when he realised that Liszt was actually modifying everything, adding so many trills and tremolos that were not in the actual music. The melodies usually so poetic and romantic, full of the depth that sent shivers down anyone's body as it transported away into a world of peace and delight, now sounded puerile to Yuri's ears. Every time a wrong note was added, one that the long haired man was not used to, he imagined the melody going crazy.

Not that the music was bad in itself – most of the people in the room enjoyed it – it was just not the same he was used to and he hated it. He wanted Flynn to play his own music and no one else.

Suddenly, his ears picked up the first few notes of his favourite melody and, already, the brunette was changing it to his heart's content. That was the last straw. Yuri's head snapped away from the window and he was about to stride next to the profaning musician, but saw an irked Flynn already meeting with the former. Intrigued, the writer stayed in place, wondering how things would go.

"Please, my friend, if you are doing me the honour of playing my music, play what is written or play something else. There is only Chopin who has the right of changing Chopin[5]," he requested, the annoyance clear in his voice.

Everyone stopped their conversation to look at the exchange, intrigued as to how things would go. Yuri wondered if it was a rare sight between the two pianists or if it was a recurring event.

"Then play yourself!" Liszt exclaimed as he stood up, vexed by the other's words.

"With pleasure," Flynn answered as he sat down on the bench offered to him.

Yuri could not help the smirk stretching his lips. The blonde definitely put the brunette back in his place and the long haired man felt pride at that. That haughty bastard deserved it, especially for playing in such an unrefined way that was not characteristic of Flynn. Liszt, now pouting because he was snubbed, pulled back to sit in one of the armchairs next to the piano as Flynn readied himself to play.

At that moment, a geometer moth that was flying by in the house for a while now, escaping the cold of the night outside, made its way to the lamp near the instrument in search of more warmth. As it settled inside, its wings suddenly blazed and the light was gone, leaving the piano in slight obscurity. Pleyel turned to his wife, asking her to go get fire in order to light the lamp, but Flynn vehemently refused.

"No!" he interjected quickly. "_Au contraire_, blow out all the candles. The moonlight will suffice."

Murmurs of surprise and consternation spread amongst the crowd, but everyone did as they were told. Soon, the room was plunged in complete darkness except for the soft silver gleam coming from the full moon in the night sky. Fingers gently lowered the keys in a low sound, beginning a melody so soft as to not break the comfortable silence of the night. Instead, it was accompanying it in a magical euphony that wrapped each and every heart in the room and filled them with warmth.

Yuri was watching those slim fingers run lightly across the keys in familiarity and shivers were running down his spine. Flynn was currently playing _Farewell_, the last song Liszt dared modify so shamelessly – but was thankfully stopped before he could do much damage – and a crazy thought crossed the raven haired male's mind. It was as if the blonde pianist knew how important that very music was to Yuri and was repairing the damage Liszt did by playing it with the upmost of his talent. He was lowering each note with care and precision, depicting the beauty of the melody, sending a message to the long haired man. The latter closed his eyes and let himself be lulled by the music, wanting to believe so badly this thought that made no sense. It was a feeling he cherished.

Flynn played and played, succeeding song after song, not ever making a single mistake in his notes or a misstep with his fingers. He was playing with only the moon as a source of light, light that was not even gracing its presence on the instrument. Not a murmur was heard amongst the crowd, everyone too entranced in the show to say anything at all, barely daring to even breathe.

After an hour of playing nonstop, Flynn's hands finally came to a final halt. He moved his arms in a few gracious movements to enhance the last note, then removed his fingers and placed them onto his lap. The aftermath was instantaneous. Applauses erupted in the entire room, tears of awe were shed, and exclamations of admiration rang out loudly. Yuri opened his eyes for the first time since he closed them, a small smile gracing his lips. This was the greatest show he ever experienced. The sheer beauty of it had entranced him to the most wonderful world in his mind. Only the pianist was able to put him in such a calming and comfortable state. Yuri wanted to go to Flynn to congratulate him, wanted to pull the latter against him and kiss him deeply!

Wait, wha...?

As his eyes widened, incredulous, his gaze travelled to the blonde and saw Liszt standing up and doing almost exactly what Yuri had just wished for: he pulled Flynn into a tight hug. The long haired man's disbelief at his needs was quickly forgotten and replaced by pure rage at the tall pianist. How did he dare hug _his_ Flynn? Yuri could not describe how furious he felt, how deeply he wanted to shove that man aside and kick him in the ass so badly that he would never dare approach the blonde again. Why was Liszt being so familiar with Flynn? They were just friends – and even that was already too much for Yuri.

"Ah, my friend, you were right! The works of a genius such as yourself are sacred! It is profanation to touch them. You are a real poet and I am but a mere street acrobat," the brunette exclaimed, the tone in his voice betraying how moved he was by the performance.

A gentle smile stretched Flynn's lips, one directed at his fellow pianist and one that sent thousands of needles in the novelist's heart, making it wrench painfully. Why was the blonde acting as though he did not mind the spur of affection? He should feel uncomfortable, in the least; he should try to push the other man away. But no, instead, he merely replied to the other musician.

"Stop with that. We each have our genres, that is all. You know very well that no one in the world can play Weber or Beethoven as you do," he reminded, finally pulling away from the brunette's embrace, and motioning for the latter to sit on the piano bench. "Speaking of which, why don't you play Beethoven's _adagio in C sharp minor_ for me? But do it seriously, as you are able to when you want to."

Liszt quickly agreed as Pleyel and his wife were beginning to light the candles in order to illuminate the room once more. Everyone around was still thrilled about the performance that had just occurred and were speaking relentlessly about it. The only quiet person was Yuri, who was now staring out the window with a sullen expression. He hated this evening, hated those nobles' voices ringing too loudly, hated the piano, hated Liszt. He hated, hated, _hated _Liszt! Damn that man, that bastard! Yuri wanted to make him pay, wanted to show him that he had no right to embrace Flynn as he just did.

"Yuri?"

When the long haired man raised his eyes, he saw a pair of sapphires gazing worryingly at him. Usually, it would have been a sight enough to calm him, but not tonight. He was mad and wanted nothing more than to be out of here.

"Are you alright, Yuri?" Flynn's voice was soft, and thankfully not loud enough for anyone else to hear, as he lowered his head to take a better look at the writer.

The latter did not want his friend seeing him in such a state, did not want to be asked so many questions, and so he shot straight up, averting his eyes.

"I'm tired of this place. I'm outta here."

He never meant to sound so harsh and the devastated look, even though it lasted only a second, was enough to send much more pain in Yuri's chest than previously. Not wanting to deal with that either, he began to stride away, but a hand grabbed his wrist and lightly tugged on it to stop him. When Yuri glanced back, he saw pleading eyes that made him flinch. Why was he being so mean to Flynn? It was not like the pianist had done anything wrong!

"Please, Yuri, just until Franz is finished playing." The name was enough to rekindle his anger and hatred, and the raven haired male's features darkened.

"I'll be outside, then."

He did not say anything, did not look back a second time, merely pulled his wrist from the other's grasp and stepped away to the front door where he quickly slid outside. The fresh air felt good on his skin as he attempted to calm himself, inhaling deeply. What had gotten into him? Why had he felt such loath towards Liszt? Why was he angry at Flynn even though he did nothing wrong in the least? This made no sense at all and Yuri could not comprehend himself anymore. He regretted the way he acted towards the blonde and wanted to apologize, but somehow, he knew his pride and that little bit of flaring hatred that he did not understand would prevent him from doing so. He was such an idiot, he realised as he rubbed his face with his hands.

Fifteen minutes later, Flynn joined him outside. This surprised Yuri as he was sure he would have to wait far longer than that. After all, he needed to say goodbye not only to his host, but also to most of the people present. Yuri also believed that Liszt would do everything to stop the blonde from leaving. And yet here he was, standing next to the raven haired male, the mix of gentleness and worry on his beautiful pinkish lips. God, Yuri was doing it again! Could this stop already? Why was his mind so intent on sending such images to him?

"I'm ready. Let's go," Flynn announced and his friend pushed himself from the wall to follow in the former's steps.

Yuri had enough time to calm since he arrived outside, but despite that, the blonde never asked any questions about what was plaguing the writer's mind. It seemed he understood Yuri wanted privacy on the matter, and the latter mentally thanked him for it.

As they walked to the pianist's house, Flynn turned his eyes to his friend. "Did you like my performance?" he inquired lightly.

Yuri immediately wanted to answer that yes, he loved every second of it, that it was the best thing he ever heard in all his life – even if he could not remember most of it. But images of him kissing Flynn and of Liszt hugging the blonde both shamed and angered him once more, stopping his enthusiasm. He averted his eyes and clenched and unclenched his fists in an attempt to regain his calm.

"Yeah, it was good," he merely replied, a bit colder than he would have liked to. He did not see the look of hurt crossing the other's blue irises and the latter looked away as well.

"I see," he mumbled in a murmur. "I'm glad then."

Despite the words, Yuri thought that they were not sincere in the least. Surprised, he watched the pianist once more and saw the latter hiding his expression with his hair. This sent dread inside the long haired man's stomach. Why could he not shake the feeling he made some grave mistake?

"I won't force you to come to these salons anymore," Flynn suddenly continued, voice too neutral for Yuri to discern anything. "Since you seem to have hated it, I wouldn't want to bore you with it anymore. I'm sorry it was a pain to come."

Shocked, Yuri wanted to protest vehemently, that he enjoyed most of the evening, and that the pianist understood wrong. However, a smile given to him threw him off before he could utter a single word; it was filled with bitter understanding, guilt and sadness. What happened? Why did it come to this?

Silence was the only thing exchanged between the two for the rest of the way and both men retired to their respective rooms, unease grabbing their hearts.

* * *

A few months went by and it felt as though they were gone in the blink of an eye. The days following that first salon Yuri attended were somewhat awkward between the two as Flynn spent them in his study, not wanting to be disturbed. He seemed to be avoiding the dark haired man. Yet, never did the latter really know if it was that or his imagination. After all, the pianist really could just have been busy.

After that, the routine that was installed between the two since a few weeks ago was back, except for the fact that Yuri now wrote more. Flynn managed to talk and convince the friend he spoke of to take a look at the writer's works, and it was enough to start the raven haired male's career. The latter was glad for it because he believed he would finally be able to pull his own weight in that house by paying back the blonde. However, he soon found out that the musician wanted nothing with his money. It ended up in a fight between the two, and even came to fists at some point. Both were a bit bashed up, Yuri with a bleeding nose and Flynn with a dark bruise on his cheek, and they only stopped when the blonde was the one to win when he knocked the other on the floor – though Yuri would grumble and say that he only agreed to lose because Flynn was starting to cough badly and the writer was scared he was showing signs of his recurring sickness. All in all, the raven haired male was forbidden to give any money to the pianist who was more than happy to let the former stay in his house, free of charge. They were friends, after all, and the musician reminded that he enjoyed the company instead of the eerie silence of his usual life before Yuri arrived.

That was how the routine was reinstalled with Yuri merely cooking as a way to thank the blonde – and, quite simply, as a way to survive. In those few months, Flynn fell sick once again and it lasted a bit longer than the previous time, slightly worrying the raven haired male. The doctor had told him that it would go away eventually, but the writer could definitely not shake the feeling that the former was completely wrong. Every time it would cross Yuri's mind, however, he would admonish himself. He had no right to doubt like that. Flynn was strong, he would definitely pull through.

In that time he was ill, the pianist was seized with one of his composing frenzy. Yuri had to do everything to keep Flynn in bed – he almost knocked him on the head hard at some point. It was hard for the musician who absolutely needed to write down the notes invading his mind, refusing to let go of him until he scribbled them on paper and gave them life on the piano. He tried everything: scream at Yuri, try to sneak into his study, beg with that beaten puppy face... That last one made it hard not to crack, but the long haired man pulled it through and refused each time. There was no way he was endangering the blonde's health. He only allowed the latter to go to his piano once he was feeling better, to which the pianist quickly disappeared to, never to come out – or almost – until a week later. The writer used that time to finish his first novel that he sent to his editor. With a few things to correct, it was accepted with praise and, a month later, it was released in bookstores. It was a hit in France, thankfully, and Yuri was definitely encouraged to write more.

Despite Flynn's words, Yuri insisted to accompany him to other salons. He enjoyed listening to the pianist play around other people; it was a different atmosphere from the one when they were alone. Besides, he wanted to speak with Delphina again. She was a friend of Flynn that Yuri definitely relished the company. She spoke of various things with him and, obviously, when his novel was published, she praised his work vehemently, along with other people. It boasted Yuri's confidence – though only Flynn and Delphina's opinion mattered – and it reassured him that his real name would definitely not be heard around. The name George Sand was on everyone's lips. The secret was safe and so would be Flynn.

Two months following that event, a royal emissary came knocking on the door. Apparently, the king wanted the pianist to come play at the palace for his daughter's birthday that would take place the next month. Since Flynn was used to performing at the castle – and because it certainly was not a request he could _refuse_ – he told the emissary that he would be there without fault. He also requested that he bring company. The messenger was pretty sure that everything would be alright, but still told he would come back with a confirmation.

Yuri was surprised when he heard he would be brought to the palace. He was certainly not of royal blood – at least not in France – and he was not that much of a well-known man yet. He doubted he could even be welcomed, but the blonde assured him that it would be okay if they were going together. Besides, Flynn would not only be playing in front of the royal family. There would be many nobles: dukes, barons, knights... Someone was bound to know of the writer's work. It would only help spread the word for his books. Unsure, the raven haired male accepted anyway. He enjoyed listening to Flynn on any occasion, after all. Besides, he was curious to see the palace, even if it would be full of haughty nobles. As long as the pianist was not too far from him, Yuri would be alright.

That was how they ended up shopping for clothes. Apparently, the long haired man did not have clothes elegant enough for the court. Of course, he could have borrowed some of Flynn's clothes, but the latter was dead set on thinking it was not the writer's style and that it would be nice if he could have an outfit of his own for such special occasions. Yuri groaned as he was dragged to a tailor, believing that this kind of thinking was definitely too womanish for the pianist. When he voiced it out loud, he received a rather hard smack on the head, making him yelp loudly. Irked, it was enough to put a smirk on his lips and he tried to pay him back, wanting nothing more than to distract the blonde with a playful banter. Unfortunately, Flynn threatened him that he would haul him on his shoulder all the way to the shop if he did not behave. Knowing very well that the musician was capable of doing it and not wanting to be embarrassed in front of so many people in the streets, Yuri was reduced to grumbling once more, following reluctantly.

When they arrived to the store, the tailor immediately got to work after the pianist's few instructions on what he wanted for the raven haired male. The first time he saw her, Yuri wondered why Flynn was coming in this place and why it was still in business: the long dark ponytailed lady was dressed in an outfit that revealed way too much. It was easy to take a glance at her exposed chest and her white and blue dress barely covered her knees. Even her long sleeves revealed her shoulders and wrist[6]. Of course, it was easy to understand that her customers might be at least ninety-five percent male, but she would be considered outrageous by most of the society, so it was a wonder her store had not been shut down. When Yuri asked the question in a whisper, Flynn explained that she was the best tailor in Paris, whether anyone liked it or not. He too had been uncomfortable the first times he was brought in this place by a friend, but when he saw with his own eyes the calibre of her work, he did not doubt her talent anymore.

Although the writer was not really complaining or anything. He actually liked the girl: she was cocky, teasing and definitely not scared of stating her mind. Apparently, she was named Judith and was in this business for five years already. When Yuri learned that she was one year younger than Flynn, his eyes widened. It meant she started around seventeen years old. The long haired man was definitely impressed.

As she took his measures, he observed her hair: there seemed to be a bluish hue in her ebony strands[7], and Yuri wondered if it was natural. Her entire being screamed unconventional, after all, but it did not felt like she had done anything to her hair. Ah well, not that he really cared anyway.

The measures were taken quickly and Judith disappeared behind her counter, pulling out a pad of paper where she scribbled a few notes. She asked the long haired male if he had any preferences with his clothes. The latter merely shrugged as he stated that, as long as they were dark – he would hate to wear light pastel colours –, he did not care and would accept anything she would create. She giggled, stating that she was glad he said so because she already had a few ideas in her head that she died to create. She told both men to come back in a week for adjustments before she shooed them away, already wanting to start working.

Now, they were that week later and Yuri was currently putting on the clothes Judith assaulted him with the second he stepped inside the shop. At first glance, the raven haired male believed they were not bad and that the tailor did a rather good job with the designing. Now the only thing left to discover was if they suited him. Not that he doubted the ponytailed girl, but it was still a trying on session. As he pulled down the sleeveless grey shirt, he heard the other two's anticipating murmurs and he rolled his eyes. Judith suddenly yelled at him to go faster, to which he replied that he was doing his best, considering he was putting on clothes such as these for the first time.

When he did finally manage to put the full outfit, he stepped out of the back store and saw eyes widen. Yuri was now wearing a long grey shirt under a puffed long-sleeved black jacket that stopped at his waist. It had a long collar that seemed Chinese inspired and the hemline was of a light golden-yellow hue. The jacket could not be buttoned, but was kept closed by a v-shaped part with silver designs. His shoulders and back were clad with a semblance of a short crimson cloak hemmed with gold and sewed to the jacket in a V shape. The two observers were not able to take their eyes off Yuri and the latter could even swear that the tailor's were twinkling in pure delight. She even squealed as she hurried to the writer's side, making sure to check every spot for any imperfection that she would obviously not find. Amused at her reaction, Yuri's hand moved to his hip as he observed her, missing the blush creeping onto Flynn's cheeks.

"Just as I thought, this is the perfect outfit," she declared proudly.

A movement in Flynn's direction made her glance his way and, contrary to Yuri, she saw the blush that he tried his best to hide. A devilish smirk appeared faintly on her lips, but it soon disappeared under nonchalance. Too quickly for the long haired man to react, she stepped behind him and grabbed his hair in one hand before coming it with her fingers, pulling it up as she did. The writer started violently and he fidgeted, unsure of what was going on. He did not like anyone touching his hair and, even though Judith was his friend, she was not really an exception.

"What are you doing?" he asked half surprised, half dangerously. She quickly hushed him, ignoring the tone as though it did not impress her in the least, and continued until it was high enough. She then pressed her chin on Yuri's shoulder, looking in the pianist's direction.

"What do you think, Flynn?" Yuri grumbled inwardly.

The first time they came into the shop, the tailor heard the long haired man call the pianist by his middle name. It immediately perked her attention and her eyes bore into both men, suddenly understanding something that they did not. She inquired about it, a sly smile painted on her lips as her gaze travelled back and forth on both men. Somehow, even though the writer told her the same reason he told Flynn why he was using that name, he felt as though she did not truly believe him and saw something else behind it, something... scary. Yuri did not know what it was and he had no intentions of ever trying to find out.

Judith then proceeded to ask if she could also call the blonde that way, because she liked it a lot more than Frederic or Mr. Chopin. The concerned one had been about to say that he did not really care, but the writer had quickly cut him to the chase by glaring at the tailor and stating a firm 'no!' This had surprised Flynn greatly, who stared at the dark haired man as though he had grown two heads. The latter blushed violently upon realising just what he did, and the fact that Judith's sly smile only increased did not help in the least. She did that on purpose, searching for his reaction to this for whatever reason. What was in her mind?

Yuri had muttered a vague reason as to why he did not want to, stating that if too much people started calling him that, it might harm his reputation, but it was clear Judith did not believe him. She knew the real reason. What was the real reason, exactly? The long haired man did not even know himself. He did not even understand why he protested so vehemently when she had every right to call Flynn however she wanted. His brain was getting more and more frustrating.

And he still could not shake that annoyance every time she called the musician by his nickname. Even now, as she stared at the blonde, waiting for his answer. And even though her voice and smile were full of meaning as she questioned the blonde, never did the latter realised it as his eyes were solely on Yuri, face a shade of dark red. This time, the novelist did see it and a smirk played on his mouth. This could definitely be worth it.

"What's wrong, Flynn? Why're you so silent? Doesn't it fit me?" Yuri complained with a pout and laughed inwardly as the pianist shook his head fervently.

"N-no! T-that's not what I meant! It really fits you, Yuri. Y-you look really handsome..."

Flynn looked away in embarrassment, a hand scratching the back of his head nervously, and he missed the expression changing on the raven haired male. The blonde's words had the opposite effect of what Yuri was looking for. Instead of being amused, his own face flushed violently and butterflies suddenly fluttered inside his stomach. What was this? Why were Flynn's words getting such a reaction out of him? Why did he feel so happy and embarrassed at the same time? Annoyed, Yuri smacked the tailor's hand keeping his hair on place away, taking a couple of steps backwards to face her. He was averting his eyes, not wanting to see her knowing expression.

"Are we done, now?" he exclaimed with irritation. "You saw what you need to modify, right? I can go change now." She sulked at the sudden attitude, crossing her arms on her chest.

"You're no fun," she complained, but the glare she received, even though it entertained her, was enough to dissuade her of adding anything else. And so she sighed and nodded, which was enough for the writer to quickly disappear in the back store where he could change. Judith turned to Flynn who was staring at the spot occupied by Yuri a few seconds ago with unease and incomprehension.

"Did I say something wrong?" he wondered aloud, searching for any clues in the tailor's attitude. The latter heaved a long sigh, placing her hands on her hips and shaking her head in discouragement.

"You are both idiots."

* * *

_Small legs ran quickly in the streets amongst the crowd, their little owner barely paying attention to where he was going and who he was bumping into, not caring if he almost made them trip. He ignored the outraged cries erupting towards him, his mind completely elsewhere as he kept his course. To where, he had no idea. He just needed to get away from his home. As far away as possible, at least for some time – or until he was found, naturally. _

_He could not believe it. It was summer, they were here in this foreign country on vacation, and yet his father _still_ wanted him to have private classes every day with a boring teacher that could not, for the love of him, amuse a child and be interesting. No, instead, the little boy had to sit at a table, listen to some soporific notions about history, geography, mathematics, and language from morning to afternoon. When it was finally done, when he was sure that he would finally be free, he was given a huge pile of homework to do and books to study for the next classes. It drove him nuts! The sun was bright and shining outside, begging him to go play outside where he could run around, play with the dogs in the courtyard and laugh to his heart's content. Yet it was all forbidden to him. Today, however, was enough. There was no way he was going to endure such torture all summer. Which was why he escaped from the summer villa his family was staying at, making sure he would have some _fun_. _

_This was the second summer the boy and his parents came to Poland. Apparently, they would continue to come here every summer, and so his father had proceeded in showing him around during the previous heat season. By then, the child had known the streets by heart and he was thankful for it now that he was roaming around and escaping the living hell waiting for him at the house. It would prevent him from getting lost. _

_He took a turn in a street less travelled by passers-by and saw a lone mansion at the end of the path. He also heard the faint sound of what resembled music. This perked the boy's attention and he wondered for a brief second if he was hearing right or if it was his imagination. He could not really tell what instrument it was, so he moved forward, curious about the nature of the sound. It became clearer the more he walked towards it and, soon, he was able to tell that it was a piano. A light yet complicated melody reached his ears and he wondered who could be playing so expertly. From what he heard from the very few concerts his father deigned bring him to, this sounded like Mozart: it was frivolous and carefree. The pianist was playing it with such perkiness that the boy believed that person must have an easy and problem free life. _

_He knew that entering the yard was forbidden and that he could get kicked out rather harshly if he was to be discovered. However, he did not care the least bit. He was dying to know who was playing, the melody attracting him as though it was vital and his feet dragging him inside the property of their own accord. He made sure to be careful as he walked in front of windows. He peaked inside for a quick second, making sure that the person he was looking for was not inside, then continued his path while lowering himself. _

_He finally managed to locate the sound when he spotted an opened window on the second floor above him, on the side of the mansion. It was definitely the area where the music came louder from. The child pouted, wondering if he would be able to satiate his curiosity in the end, and as he searched with his eyes, saw that there was a tree near the window that he would easily be able to climb to peek inside. Grinning widely, he ran to his climbing point before moving up like a monkey. When he finally reached the strong branch that led to the opened window, the child looked inside the mansion and finally saw what he was aiming for: a boy, approximately his age, was currently playing on the piano with a concentrated expression on his features. _

_The intruder could not see very well, and so he could not tell what colour were the other's eyes. What he _could_ discern, however, was that cute scrunched nose and light furrow of brows as he seemed to almost make a mistake in his playing – or maybe he did make one, but the child sitting on the tree was definitely not professional enough to notice it. _

_Now that his curiosity was satisfied, he should have jumped down from the tree and go away before he was spotted by anyone else. However, he was entranced by the melody and he died to hear more of the other boy's playing. He lied down on his stomach onto the branch, both hands cupping his chin to keep his head up so he could watch the pianist all the while. The latter played for another five minutes before his hands finally left the keys to rest on his lap. That was when the small intruder made himself known. He was getting a bit tired of doing nothing – he was known for being restless, after all – and he wanted someone to play with. Maybe the little musician would want to be his friend! _

_"That was really good!" he exclaimed happily. _

_He did not expect the reaction answering his words. The other boy screamed in panic as he spun his head towards the sound. This startled the child on the tree as well and he too screamed and jumped lightly. This resulted in him losing his balance and he fell on the side. If it was not for his reflexes, he would have fallen on the ground and probably broke his arm or leg. Instead, he hands grabbed the branch and he was now swinging, feet dangling in the emptiness. His heart was hammering in his chest as he tried to calm down, the adrenaline of almost having hurt himself not helping much. But when he did manage to regain a normal breathing state, he hoisted himself up again and glared at the pianist who was looking at him from the windowsill with wide eyes. _

_"Hey, no need to scare me like that! I was complimenting you!" _

_The young musician stared at him as though he were some creature from an unknown world. _

_"_I_ should be the one saying that. You're the one who's not supposed to be here and who scared me. Who are you anyway?" _

_The intruder grinned both happily and mockingly. He did not seem to care in the least that he was the one in the wrong. He had gotten to talk with the person making him curious. It was all that mattered. _

"_I'm –– !" he gave his name with haste. _

_The other child did not seem fazed anymore that a stranger had climbed the tree next to the window of his mansion and was talking to him as though nothing was wrong and as though they knew each other since forever. Quite on the contrary, he also seemed glad to have a boy his age to talk to. _

"_And I'm –– ," he answered with a smile of his own. A bright smile that took the boy outside's breath away. He definitely liked that smile and he would absolutely want to see it more. _

_If they could become friends, it would be the best thing in all this summer that would happen to him. _

"_You know, –– is waaay too long and calling you –– doesn't have any punch at all. I'll call you –– instead!" A surprised expression, eyes blinking slowly, then an amused smile crept back on the pianist's lips. _

"_It's fine by me!"_

* * *

Yuri gasped loudly as his eyes shot open and the upper half of his body bolted up. He inhaled shaky breaths while his trembling hand grasped his shirt just above his hammering heart. He was shaking all over, gulping in uneasiness, unaware of his surroundings. What happened? What was that dream? Was it... was it a memory? It felt so real; he could still hear words ringing in his mind and see a deep gaze plunged in his. What was those eyes' colour? How about the boy's hair? He could not remember.

The more he tried to grasp dips and bits of this vision, the more it escaped him, as though he tried to catch water with his hands. It unnerved and outraged him to no end. If it really was a memory, if it really happened to him, then why was his brain stubbornly keeping it away? He needed to remember, wanted to know everything about himself! And so he thought, thought harder, searched for his thoughts in his dream, searched for the words that were uttered, and especially searched for that other boy's appearance. But nothingness answered him. Vague shapes and hazy speeches were the only thing left. The long haired man hit the mattress violently, crying out in fury. He could not believe this! He had been so close to remembering something, but his stupid brain decided against it. Why? This was incredibly unfair!

He turned to his night table and grabbed the notebook and quill lying on the surface in a frustrated gesture. It was too soon to be admitting defeat. He would do everything to regain his memories, and if it meant writing down incoherent snippets, then he would do so. It would be better than nothing. And who knew, it might help him link to other aspects of his dream. He feverishly opened the notebook and dipped his quill into the ink not too far away before writing down all that he remembered. It was not much, barely anything to even start covering the content of his night vision, but it encouraged him. Maybe he would have another memory visiting his sleep sometime soon. If it happened, Yuri would definitely be ready. He would write down everything the minute he woke up.

As he wrote, his unawareness of his surroundings began to fade and he picked up the sound of the piano. Now that he thought about it, he had been hearing it for a while – he was just not focused on it, and with reasons. Maybe it even was what woke him up. As he gazed outside, the writer noticed that it was still early and he frowned lightly. Was Flynn already in another composing frenzy? Yuri turned his full attention on the music and noticed that there was something wrong with it. It was sloppy and full of mistakes, more so than if the pianist was composing and trying out various melodies and techniques. Suddenly worried, the dark haired male placed his quill and notebook back on the night table and slipped his feet out of the bed. That's when a loud bang rang out and various notes resonated in a cacophony.

"Flynn!" Yuri whispered in anxiety and he was up in less than a second, already bolting out of his room to the study where the musician was.

He made his way to the study and, when he entered, his heart missed a beat. The blonde's body, currently splayed on the keys and drawing out their sound in dissonance, was racked by violent coughing fits. The long haired man reached his friend immediately, gathering the other's rigid frame in his arms and pulling it against his chest in a more comfortable position.

Yuri's hand roamed to Flynn's forehead, his fingers brushing the golden locks as he felt the heat radiating from the skin. The writer clicked his tongue in both displeasure and worry, but silenced it for now, merely lowering his hand to the pianist's back and rubbing soothing circles to calm him. It took a while, and for a moment, Yuri was scared that the musician would pass out from lack of breath. He was relieved when the other's body finally eased up and became limp against his own. Flynn gulped deep and shaky breaths, his limbs trembling uncontrollably as he was steadied by his friend. The raven haired male's fingertips ran back to Flynn's forehead, feeling the heat once more.

"You're burning up. What are you doing out of bed?"

The dark haired man's tone was reproachful, a small contrast to his careful and gentle combing of the pianist's strands. The latter smiled weakly, closing his eyelids as he revelled into the touch, loving the icy sensation on his burning skin. The way he leaned onto Yuri's hand told the writer that Flynn enjoyed it quite much, but the latter's smile turning nostalgic caught him slightly off guard. He could not understand why the blonde was acting this way.

"I was fine a minute ago," the musician voiced out in an out of breath voice, cracking an eye open to stare at the long haired man.

The expression Yuri pulled told the pianist that the former found his words _very _hard to believe, and so he added, "I swear. I started feeling bad a few moments before you arrived. I was alright otherwise," he insisted, but it did not serve in easing the raven haired male's worry. Instead, the latter sighed heavily as he shook his head in discouragement.

"Anyway, this doesn't change the fact that it's off to bed for you. I'm not allowing you to work in that kind of state," Yuri concluded and he lowered himself to start helping the other up, but Flynn stopped him, pushing himself from the writer even though Yuri believed it must have taken a lot of willpower from the pianist, considering the way he seemed to enjoy being held.

The dark haired man scowled, not in the mood this early in the morning to be fighting.

"I can't, Yuri. I still need to work on this music. The princess' anniversary is in two weeks. I can't afford to lose any time now. I'll be fine. I'll rest when it's done," he protested, already trying to put himself into a sitting position, as wobbly as it was.

It was not hard to figure out that he would collapse again anytime soon, which made Yuri growl in frustration. Flynn could be so damn stubborn when he wanted and it irritated him to no end.

Before the pianist could touch the keys with his fingers, the writer reached for the lid faster and closed it over the board in an annoyed motion, although he was still careful not to break anything. The blonde was about to protest, but Yuri knocked him on the head, hard enough to knock some sense into him, but not strong enough to send him a painful headache.

"Damn it, Flynn, you're _burning up_! How many times do I have to repeat myself? You're certainly not in _any_ condition to work, especially not to compose. Which, by the way, was completely bad before I arrived, because you were definitely not in the right mind to be playing. It was sloppy and full of mistakes you don't usually make. I'm also sure that what you wrote down must not make much sense. So you'll do me the pleasure of standing up and go wrap yourself up warmly in your bed so you can get better faster and work on this quicker, whether you like it or not. Am I clear?"

There was no place for any discussion in Yuri's tone; it was firm, strict and unwavering. Whatever Flynn would have to say for himself would not even work. The dark haired man was proving that he could be as hell as stubborn.

The pianist sighed as well, but finally agreed. His head was starting to pound and the prospect of staying in bed was more appealing than going out of his way to find a fitting melody for the princess' birthday. Besides, Yuri was right. He would not produce anything good if he was sick and, even if he managed to finish something, it would be looked down upon by the royal court. That was definitely not an option.

He stood up, with the help of his friend who wrapped an arm under his, and took shaky steps towards his room. Once he reached his destination, he collapsed on the bed, shivers running down his spine. The writer helped him inside the sheets, tucking him in with care and brushing the other's forehead with his fingertips, knowing that the latter must like it for their coldness. Yuri did not like how hot the other's skin was becoming and so he strode to the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom and grabbed a clean cloth in the cupboard before putting it under the cold running water.

When he came back, the pianist was seized with another coughing fit. The long haired male was immediately at the other's side, placing him in a sideway position so he would not choke, and started rubbing circles in his back. Yuri hated how hollow it sounded; it was worse than the last two times Flynn fell sick. Thankfully, Victoria would be coming soon enough. It would save the writer from going to fetch the doctor himself and leave the pianist alone. If there was one good thing about Flynn falling sick, it was that it always started somewhere early in the morning, allowing the raven haired male to stay by his side.

When Flynn eased up, shallow breathing coming in tired puffs, Yuri ran the cold moistened cloth on his face, gently swiping away the sweat. The blonde hummed in relief and gratification. With an amused smile, the writer kept his soothing motions for a moment more, then folded the cloth and delicately laid it atop the musician's forehead. He was then about to go fetch a chair, when a hand grabbed his wrist. He turned his attention to Flynn who was throwing him a pleading look, which caught the long haired man off guard.

"Don't go. Stay here," he requested in a low voice. Yuri chuckled.

"I'm not going anywhere. I was just grabbing a chair and coming back, don't worry. At least wait and see what people are doing instead of jumping to conclusions," he chastised teasingly. He raised an eyebrow when his friend shook his head instead.

"That's not what I meant." Yuri waited for something more, but instead, he was pulled downward and he fell beside the pianist.

The latter then grabbed his friend by the waist, pulling him closer without a second thought. The writer's face turned a deep shade of red immediately, his heart beating madly as he attempted to understand the situation. What was going on? What was Flynn doing?

"F-F-Flynn?" Yuri stuttered as he tried to push himself from the other, struggling to get away. However, the musician's grip was tight, despite his illness, and he buried his face into the raven haired male's neck, succeeding in making the other blush even more strongly. "W-what are you doing? L-let me go!"

However, the blonde was stubborn.

"Please, Yuri," he whispered pleadingly. "Let me stay like that, at least for a little while."

He would definitely not budge from his spot and Yuri sighed ever so softly, his struggling dying down and his features softening. He could not understand the pianist. The way he acted left to so many interpretations and the long haired man felt so confused. Could this mean that they were very close before he lost his memories? Yuri knew they were acquainted previously, he believed they were maybe somewhere along the line of friends. But now that the writer saw this, could it have been... more? His face flared for the third time and he stopped himself from shaking his head vigorously. This made no sense, no sense whatsoever. As if two men, one of high society, could even get together. Still, why was his heart warming at the prospect? Why did the mere idea sent waves of pure happiness and butterflies fluttering in his stomach? Why, why, why?

The raven haired male groaned inwardly and wrapped his own arms around Flynn protectively. Heck with it! He was tired of those questions and that confusion. He was a man of action and he should not care in any way of what happened. For now, he would put aside all these bothering thoughts and just lay here with the pianist as the latter requested.

"You're such a handful, you know that?" he teased with a false discouraged tone, hiding an amused smile in the blonde's strands.

"Tch! Look who's talking!" Flynn retorted with as much fun. His being was then racked by coughing and he clutched on his friend's shirt tightly for support. The amusement on Yuri's features faded for worry as he held the blonde tighter against him.

"I should go get your hot packs. It would help you," the writer advised in a soft voice, his fingers lightly caressing the golden locks. The sick man shook his head and managed to reply a few moments later.

"Not now. Wait for Victoria to arrive. I want to stay like this for now."

Yuri gently voiced his agreement at those words before he resumed his distracted caressing. Even though it felt good to be in such position, he wished for the errand girl to arrive soon. He could hear the blonde wheeze painfully and the writer hated to hear it. The faster she came, the quicker she could go fetch the doctor; whom Yuri hoped would do a better job than he was currently doing. Flynn's condition was not getting better, despite his good moments. Instead, those were shortening and the musician's health was slowly but surely declining. That doctor needed to find a real cure as soon as possible. Flynn never deserved to suffer as such, Yuri was certain of that fact.

"Alright. Sleep now, you need the rest."

Flynn did not need to be told twice and, as he closed his eyes, his slumber was quick to catch him. Yuri watched him with a light smile, but it was soon replaced by melancholy. Without realising what he was doing, he brushed his lips against the other's burning forehead, barely touching. He would ponder over it later. For now, his friend was more important.

"You have to get better soon, Flynn."

* * *

[1] Forgot to mention this in the previous chapter, but an ice box was the fridge's ancestor. It was packed with fresh ice every morning as it was distributed to townspeople, and so it was easier to keep food that way.

[2] Back in that time, they used hot packs (hot-water bottles) to cure any breathing problems.

[3] This person really existed. It was actually a woman, using a male penname in order to be able to publish her works. She was called Amantine Aurore Lucile Dupin. That's a... rather long name o.o

[4] I seriously could not stop myself there xD Their names were just too similar!

[5] Quoting Chopin ;p

[6] It might not seem so outrageous today, but back then, a woman showing the least parcel of skin was as bad as being completely nude xD

[7] Of course, I couldn't give her blue hair, lol. Sorry about that.

* * *

**A/N: **Whew, it's finally done! That took quite some time, I'm sorry about that ;A; I just really hope that this was to everyone's liking!

On a side note, I just wanted to mention that Franz Liszt was not entirely how I've been and will play him. He was a frivolous and happy person, I do believe, but the way I tweaked him was... really tweaking xD I've had a blast playing him, since he was sometimes speaking to me a whole lot more than Yuri and Flynn were doing owo. I hope you will grow to like (or hate, depending on how you see him xD) him very much, because I've put a lot of efforts into him ;p

Thank you very, very much to my four reviewers. I love you very much! Your words of encouragement means the world to me! I hope I will receive some more, because it's obviously what feeds an author xD

Thank you again, and see you soon, I hope owo


	3. Third movement

**A/N: **Hey guys! Sorry it's been a while, I'm taking care of cosplays at the moment, so yeah. Basically, it's the same story as ever xD I won't make you wait any longer. I just want to say a HUGE thank you to **MoonlightLilyXIII** who betaed this chapter. Thank you so much for taking the time and giving me advice~!

**Disclaimer:** I own only the story and the few made up and tweaked characters. All else belongs to Namco.

* * *

**Third movement**

"_Hey, –––! Play something for me!" _

_A dark haired little boy exclaimed from his spot on a tree branch. He was comfortably lazing on the particular branch which led right up to another child's window; his one hand supporting his chin while the other dangled carelessly by his side. He swung his legs at a gentle and steady pace, taking extra care to avoid falling off by accident. The other boy, who was inside the house, sat up straight on the piano bench and turned to his friend with a pout. _

"_Again? This is the third time already! Can't we do something else?" the little pianist whined softly, crossing his arms against his chest. _

_The dark haired boy tilted his head to the side in response but remained unshaken by the other's complaints for the most part. A grin, however, found its way to stretch across the boy's lips, showing off white teeth in the process. _

"_Why? I love to hear you play! You're so talented! Of course I'd ask you to play again and again! I can't get tired of it." _

_A cute blush coloured the pianist's cheeks as he tugged at the fabric of his shirt, twirling it in embarrassment though it was clearly reflected in his eyes and by the shy smile he wore that he was pleased by the words. The door leading to the room suddenly swung open and a slim figure stepped inside. The young girl's attention was immediately seized by the figure of the young boy resting on the branch who sleazily grinned and waved at her. She had the appearance of someone who was barely two to three years older than the two boys, her long brown hair worn in a neat high tail swaying in motion as she shook her head disapprovingly._

"_Could you not start using the door?" she reprimanded the boy outside, a hand on her hip as she took a couple of steps towards the open window. "It's not as if you need to sneak in anymore. The whole household knows who you are already. It would be more polite to make your presence known." _

_Her words obviously meant well for the young fellow yet they still fell on deaf ears.. If anything, they only served to increase the level of smugness carved upon the boy's features, mischief twinkling in his irises. _

"_It'd be a hassle if I needed to go through the whole house just to get to this room when I can get to it directly through a tree. Besides, doors are overrated . It's much more fun this way," he brushed aside her reprehension with a single wave of his hand, earning another sigh of discouragement from the teenage girl. _

_Half resigned by the stubborness she had to deal with, an idea sparked in mind. With a smirk creeping slowly upon her pink lips,she placed one of her hands on the windowsill, the other reaching out for the glass panes.. _

"_Then I'd be rather tempted to do this," she stated before shutting the window close, locking it and stepping away. _

_Taken by surprise, the long haired boy shot up from his position a protest already leaving his lips as he frowned in annoyance Unfortunately, one of his hands slipped from its hold, resulting in a lost of balance. With his heart leaping in his throat and his skin paling in fright, he managed just barely at grasping the branch with a free hand. He glared at the grass below, his breathing ragged and heavy as he thanked, his reflexes with all his might. Not sparing a moment for his fear to elevate, he quickly clasped his other hand on the branch and hoisted himself up, making sure to sit somewhere safer than he previously did before. _

_When he peered through the window again, the boy saw the two occupants laughing madly. Irritated, the long haired child crossed his arms and pouted in dissatisfaction, all the while regaining a normal heart beat. He did not see the other child opening the window once more but he did hear the laughter gradually die down. _

_"Are you alright, __–––_?" the other boy inquired as he wiped away a tear from the corner of his eye. 

_The scowling child clicked his tongue in vexation, pulling a face at his friend._

"_I would be, if my best friend weren't laughing his ass off at my misfortune!" he sulked grumpily, to which the other sighed heavily._

"_Oh, come on, don't be like that," the latter insisted, smiling brightly at the pouting boy. "Come on, get inside, I'll play your favourite for you. How's that sound?" _

_As much as the long haired child wanted to refuse, the sole idea perked him up and his face brightened as he nodded. He made his way carefully to the windowsill and slid inside the room where the other boy's sister still stood, watching them with careful eyes. The two children sat on the piano bench and the small pianist's hands reached for the keys. Before long, a soft melody erupted from within the instrument. Unlike the previously played melody, it was not an euphony known around the world. It lacked a certain harmony and could be described as slightly wobbly compared to the grandiose pieces of piano masters from an earlier time. It was, however, elegant and delicate nonetheless, with a certain subtlety that sounded pleasant in one's ear. As his friend played, the long haired boy closed his eyes in delight, revelling in the beautiful music that filled the room._

_When it came to an end, he eagerly applauded, just like he would every time the short haired child finished that particular piece. The latter's sister, who stayed to listen as well, approached the two. _

_"Hum, so that's your favourite song, __–––_? I'm a bit surprised you'd like one he composed. I had been sure that you'd have liked one of his takes on Mozart, since he plays them best," she conceded, surprised by her brother's friend's choice. 

_The latter shook his head vehemently._

"_It's true that __–––_'s very good at playing Mozart, but I can't help but love the songs he himself composed. I think it's because they truly reflect him- like there's a shard of his soul within those pieces. I feel like I can hear him_ and not someone else who's a complete stranger to me. And it may not be perfect but that's exactly the reason why I like it; it proves that he's still learning. He puts in so much more effort that I can't help but be proud of him every time he finishes it," he explained the reasoning behind his love for the song. _

_When he looked at his friend, he saw a deep blush dust across the short haired boy's cheeks and could not help but make fun of it. "Ha, you're all red! What? Did my words touch you so much?" he laughed, enjoying the notion of payback for earlier._

"_S-shut up, __–––_!" the other stuttered, averting his eyes as he played with the folds of his clothes. 

_The girl behind them chuckled lightly at the display. _

"_Aww, you two are so close, it's just so cute!" she exclaimed as her hands reached for both of their heads in order to ruffle their hair without mercy. Cries of protest erupted from their lips as they tried to shove her hands away. _

_Despite all of that, they did not want such happiness to end._

* * *

Yuri sighed as he stared at the many nobles surrounding him, feeling a bit lost. A few minutes ago, Flynn had left him in the main hall where lots of comfortable chairs had been arranged in rows, serving as a makeshift audience hall. It would be the room where the blonde pianist would be asked to play for the princess' anniversary later in the afternoon. The former told his accompanying friend that he needed to go see a few people somewhere else in the castle as well as to prepare for his concert before it was due. Owing so, he had requested Yuri to stay put in the main hall for the time being. As much as it left him uneasy, the writer could only agree, not wanting to be selfish when the musician could do nothing about the situation. And so he bade the latter goodbye, watching the blonde leave the wide room through the crowd, now wondering what he should do with his free time. Most of the people's faces were unknown to him and he suddenly wished for Delphina's company who always seemed to save him whenever Flynn left him alone.

Just as he thought of getting a glass of champagne from one of the elegantly dressed butlers and servants roaming around the room, Yuri's wishes suddenly came true as the dirty blond woman invaded his vision and threw a gentle smile his way. Delphina's long, puffed dress was exquisite, as always with delicate shades of yellow and cream beige mixing together harmoniously. She wore gloves on her slim hands and wrists under the tight long sleeves and only her neck and collarbone were revealed, graced by a charming choker set by a lovely stone engraved as a white rose. Her hair was tied in a long braid falling just above her shoulder to her right. She had wonderful taste and was always more good-looking than any otherwoman Yuri has ever come across.

"Oh, Mr. Sand, how I'm glad to see you here!" she exclaimed pleasantly, bowing ever so slightly as she raised her dress, just as courtesy would ask.

The dark haired writer only smirked lightly, giving the lady a nod.

"Would you mind my presence at your side, today? We could sit next to each other during the concert, which could leave us the opportunity to discuss while we wait. I'm afraid I don't have any company with me today, so I would truly appreciate yours," she admitted with a smile, almost as if she knew Yuri also wanted to spend some time with her. "After all, we did not have the chance to speak of your latest book and I would love to hear about it from you, as well as state what I thought of it."

"Sheesh, Delph, there you go again with that formal thing," the writer complained, ignoring the odd stares the people around them gave him as his speech contrasted drastically with the noble woman's.

The latter could only chuckle discreetly, a folded finger in front of her mouth. She was already used to her friend's 'impolite' speech and did not mind at all. It was refreshing, to say the least.

"My apologies, but old habits die hard, I'm afraid. I'll try to be more careful, George," she concluded with softness, to which the long haired man beamed.

Her eyes caught sight of the writer's hair and adoration immediately filled her irises. "Oh, I see you've pulled your hair into a ponytail. It's so lovely! You should do it more often, it suits you really well!" she commented happily, earning a light blush from the other who cleared his throat.

"Yeah, well, let's say I was kinda forced. Anyway, I'm a bit tired to stay here. Why don't we go get good seats and wait there until the concert starts?" he changed the subject expertly.

His interlocutor did not point it out, merely agreeing with his plan. They made their way through the chairs, choosing the best seats that were not already taken before resuming their conversation. Soon, the crowd imitated them, threading their way through the rows until they were all seated, the bustling of conversation still loud within the four walls. It only died down when the doors to the left opened, revealing King Louis-Philippe the first and his daughter, Princess Estellise. In one motion, the people stood and bowed to their ruler in respect before returning to their previous positions once the royal couple were led to their seats in a more secluded area.

At that very moment, Flynn made his entrance from a back door and approached the piano, stopping a couple of steps further away from it and near the crowd so he could briefly incline his upper body. He sat back on the chair during a round of applause that quieted quickly as he prepared himself to play. His fingers were gently laid on the keys and a symphony was drawn out in the room, filling expectant ears with delightful music. Yuri's eyes were kept solely on that lone figure, registering every single movement in his mind. It was, in a way, another aspect of Flynn he was learning: him playing in a crowd he barely knew. Somehow, his playing seemed different; not in a bad way, of course! He was just a bit more rigid, surely nervous and conscious of his surroundings, and he was extra careful in each note he caressed. He was not as comfortable and carefree as he was when surrounded by friends.

The concert lasted for two hours straight with merely a ten minutes intermission. He finished it with the very song he composed exclusively for the princess' birthday. When his hands stopped their motion and landed in his lap, a thunderous applause erupted from every corner of the roomand a standing ovation immediately greeted the pianist's bowing figure. The latter smiled, almost tensely, and bowed a second time, this time in front of the king and his daughter. Princess Estellise seemed delighted, her face illuminated in pure joy. She threw a glance at her father, who nodded solemnly and made her way to the musician, already engaging a conversation. The blonde seemed to be relieved by the fact that there would not be a swarm of people coming to them for they had to provide some privacy and space for the young highness.

At the sight, Yuri sighed in dismay. It seemed that he would not be speaking with Flynn anytime soon. At least, he had Delphina to keep him company. But as the thought crossed his mind and he turned to her, he saw that another noble woman was already speaking excitedly with the writer's friend. Already feeling like he would seem intrusive if he stayed, he stood from his seat and made his way outside. Besides, the hustle and bustle of conversation was clouding his senses and the long haired man was sure he would soon suffocate if he were to linger any longer. He needed some fresh air so he reached for the door and slipped outside.

He exhaled in relief when the door closed and the noise dissolved into the comfort of silence. As he walked a few feet away, his thoughts brought him back to the dream he had during the previous night – or rather the memory, he was almost certain of it. Contrary to the first one he had two weeks prior, he remembered more of it, especially when he immediately grabbed his notebook and wrote down every little detail he could recall. It was still hazed, however, and he could not put his finger on the other boy's actual figure. It was the one that always slipped away first, leaving almost nothing but unclear clothes and a bright smile. It infuriated Yuri because he had a hunch as to who that boy could be but he could never be certain if his mind did not allow him any confirmation. On top of that, he could barely remember the dreams' events, leaving him with nothing concrete to confront said person.

The doors to the hall opened a second time, the light cacophony of voices making its way through the breach until it was closed once again. The writer turned to face the newcomer in slight curiosity but instantly regretted doing so when he saw who exactly had come out. Liszt was grinning and waving at him cheerfully with that strange glint shining in his eyes while holding the knob of a walking stick in his other hand, putting some weight on it. It seemed he was accompanied by another man the raven haired male had no idea about. Yet, as he observed those short, dark chocolate hair and grey eyes, he could not help but feel as though he were strangely familiar. However, as opposed to the time he had a nostalgic emotion towards Flynn, Yuri's instincts screamed at him to get away from the man who gave off an air of suspicion. Despite the growing sensation welling up within, he did not move, merely observing the two with wariness, as he wondered why they were out here when the main event clearly was on the other side of the doors.

"Oh, George! I knew it was you I saw exiting the room. Are you not feeling well? You came with Chopino, after all, would you not want to wait for him inside?" the brown haired pianist inquired, faking the concern he showed towards Yuri.

The latter only growled inwardly, his features darkening. He was already irritated at the bubbly display of character; he didn't need the man to test his patience further. Could that damn musician not leave him alone?

"I'm a bit surprised you care," Yuri replied a hand on his hip. "I was certain you'd have taken the opportunity to grab Flynn all for yourself instead of running after me. Unless I misunderstood from the start and you actually want to chase after me instead? That could explain your biting remarks and the way you tend to focus your attention on me whenever I'm around Flynn," he mocked with the hint of a smirk on his face despite his seething agitation.

Disgust was quick to replace the fake concern that was previously on Liszt's face, melting abruptyly into a sneer once more.

"If you truly believe that, I'm afraid this means we have not understood each other and that you are too full of the little person you are. You should do something about that attitude of yours. It would be unfortunate if it caused you the loss of friends," the brunette advised as he took a step towards his rival, putting his stick in front of him as he glared at the latter.

The long haired man copied his movement, cockiness engraved in his features.

"Thanks for the advice. Too bad my friends actually like that side of me, especially _Flynn_. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't trade it for the world."

Yuri had no way of truly knowing if his words were accurate but somehow, deep inside his heart, a voice told him that it was the truth and that he had every right to throw it in the other pianist's face. As if some part of him knew Flynn from a long time ago and that this information was once revealed to the writer. It was that very part that made Yuri fight Liszt for his rightful place beside the blonde pianist.

The tall musician scowled, ready to bite back when the clearing of a throat stopped their bickering and two pairs of eyes turned to the man who had remained silent until now. Grey irises met chocolate and onyx for a brief moment until Liszt pulled away, straightening up and dusting imaginary folds on his perfectly adjusted coat.

"Ah, yes, right. George, may I present to you Duke Leonard Lefevre. He was particularly interested in the books you have written and has expressed his desire to personally meet you. When I heard you were coming with Frederic, I told him I could present him to you," the pianist told as he boringly examined his walking stick.

Yuri watched the other man warily, unsure as to what he should do exactly. The Duke prevented him from making a decision, already approaching the writer and extending a hand to the latter.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Sand. Your books were quite a delight to devour so I was quite curious about the person behind such delicacy."

Everything should have been normal. The man merely seemed like one of those fans who wanted to meet him. And yet, as Yuri stared at the noble, he could not help but see that particular glint, as if the man _knew_ something, _knew _about him. Moreover, the raven haired male could not blame this on his imagination because his whole being sent waves of alarm and screamed at him to run away, that Leonard could be nothing but bad news. But Yuri was not a coward, and thus grabbed the hand offered to him, shaking it briefly.

"The pleasure's mine," he merely answered, still analysing the person before him, trying to pinpoint why exactly he felt so repulsed by the proximity. It was the first time they have met but... just as with Flynn, had they known each other before Yuri lost his memory?

Leonard smiled at the writer. "I must admit I'm a bit surprised. Your French has a perfect ring in your books. B But now that I've met you in person, I can tell that you have a bit of an accent that is definitely not from here. Where are you from? I'm afraid I can't really pinpoint as to where that accent originates from. I'm also curious as to why you came to France to publish your books when it is not your first language."

The hair on the raven haired male's skin stood on end and he felt his heart beat rise slightly. Why was this man asking such prying questions no one has ever dared ask before? This could not be normal and his instincts only screamed louder to flee. In spite of that, the writer found himself answering the question with barely a thought.

"From Poland. I escaped the rebellion and invasion. A friend provided me with shelter once I arrived here. I decided to put what little talent I have in order to make an income. That's all there is to it."

Inwardly, Yuri's eyes widened in shock. A rebellion? An invasion? What was he talking about? The words had flown out of his mouth before he could even ponder over them. Moreover, Flynn barely ever talked about his home country and so the writer knew very little about the place and what has happened there. Was it a memory, then? Had his mind, in an attempt of protection, provided him with snippets of information that would be enough to satisfy the man before him?

On cue, Leonard's gaze glowed weirdly, but the long haired man could not understand what it meant and it left him uneasy. He wanted to get out of this place, wanted to find Flynn and go back home.

At that very moment, as if his wish had been heard, the doors to the hall opened for a third time and as Yuri gazed up at the newcomer saw the blonde pianist he had hoped for coming out of the room, obviously searching for someone. Flynn closed the entrance behind him as he spotted his friends and smiled as he approached them.

"Ah, George, I was looking for y–"

He stopped dead when the duke turned towards him as well and the blonde paled visibly. The latter's eyes travelled back and forth between Leonard and Yuri, his skin becoming whiter and whiter as he did. The writer was overly confused at his friend's reaction, not understanding what could scare him so much that the two of them were in the same room. Yet, it was not hard to guess that the blonde pianist knew something, _again_. However, as much as the long haired man would die to ask him what it was, he could not. Not here, in those other two's presence.

"Flynn?" he murmured anyway, unable to stay quiet in front of the musician's distress. It seemed to jerk the man out of his daze and he finally strode over to Yuri, grabbing his arm.

"I was looking for you, George. Princess Estellise is dying to know you. She read your books and wishes to see the man behind such masterpieces," he announced, trying to hide the quaver in his voice. He then bowed his head to Leonard. "I'm sorry, Duke Lefevre, but I'm afraid the princess must be attended to first, especially on her birthday," he apologized, forcing a smile to which the noble answered politely.

"I understand. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Sand. I hope we will see each other again."

Yuri simply nodded at the statement, not even sparing a complaisant smile. He was not given the chance to reply because Flynn tugged rather harshly on his sleeve to prompt him to move over. Still, the dark haired man did not complain, feeling relieved that he could escape the awkward meeting. As they crossed the door's threshold, he threw a last glance at the two remaining behind and noticed the weird looks that were sent his way. Shivers of unease ran down his spine hence, he quickly shut the door to follow Flynn into the hall.

"So he's living with that pathetic pianist, I see," Leonard commented with a scrunch of his nose as he watched the pianist and writer disappear.

The polite expression plastered until now on his features had disappeared, now replaced by contempt and despise. He stepped forward, ready to return into the hall, but a stick clacked in front of him. He turned his eyes to the only company left with him and a malignant smile was flashed his way.

"I would suggest not insulting Frederic in my presence, Leonard. Unless you wish to experience my wrath," Liszt warned dangerously, slowly removing his decorative walking support.

He was apparently not too fond of anyone daring to speak ill of the person he held in highest esteem.

The duke did not seem impressed much. He also did not dare fuel the other's annoyance.

"My apologies, Liszt. I did not wish to offend you The idea is far from my intentions," he apologised. His expression soured as he continued talking, "I hope, however, that you are not as fond of that... writer," he trailed off.

The pianist scoffed in amusement, finding the idea absolutely ridiculous.

"Not in the least!" he exclaimed bewilderedly, taking offense that the other had even _thought_ he could appreciate the man that was Yuri Lowell. "I understand very well that you want him rid of. I do believe it would serve both our benefits if he were to be gone. I can arrange that. Would it interest you?" he proposed, his irritation melting for a sharp smirk full of malevolent intentions.

Leonard's eyebrow raised in suspicion and disbelief at his interlocutor.

"Hmm... I did not think you were the type to dirty your hands," he commented. Despite his proclamation, he was all ears towards Liszt's proposal.

"Oh, I don't plan to soil my own body. Do not worry," the pianist declared, examining his hand absent-mindedly.

His grin widened in absolute twisted delight, an idea already forming in his head that he was dying to use. The duke could not help but be curious at what exactly the other was thinking. However, he knew that he would receive not as much as a clue, even if he asked, and so decided to remain quiet on the matter. He would soon learn of the other's plan when it would be put into motion.

"Well, I am a busy man after all. Very well, I'll leave things to you," he finally agreed.

He resumed his earlier departure and, this time, the light brown haired man let him go without stopping him.

"You will not be disappointed," Liszt announced with assurance.

His feet took off in the opposite direction in order to leave the castle. He had nothing left to do here and he wanted to prepare everything he would need as quickly as possible.

* * *

Ink was smudged as a slam was heard, Yuri's trembling hand now resting on his closed notebook. His other hand was crushing the quill he was holding, spilling black ink all over his fingers and palm. He had hoped that writing down in his notebook would help him quell his frustration, but his mind always wandered back to the reception that was held previous days ago and it only served in fuelling it. His irritated irises turned to the door of his room when something softly knocked on the wood on the other side.

"Yuri?" came Flynn's muffled voice, sounding hesitant. "I'm stepping out for a bit, I have classes to give. I'll be back later in the afternoon."

The writer's already darkened mood only flared up, but he kept silent, stubbornly looking at his desk.

"Yuri?"

The concerned one humphed, ignoring the uncertain steps fading away in the hall. Obviously, Flynn understood the message and left. It would have been surprising for him not to understand, considering the blonde was given the silent treatment for two days now.

Yuri cursed at the guilt welling up inside for treating the pianist that way. He should not have to feel guilty; the blonde deserved the treatment after what he did two days ago.

_After being woven through the crowd by Flynn's guiding hand for a while, Yuri felt that he has had enough. He suddenly stopped the both of them in their tracks, making sure to plant his feet firmly to the ground to halt his friend as well. The musician's skin was still white with a fear the writer could not comprehend and because of that, he was dead set on understanding what was going on right at that moment. The blonde, surprised when he felt resistance, turned to the long haired man and insisted that they continue moving because the princess was waiting for them. His eyes were avoiding Yuri's on purpose, glancing from time to time to the door behind as if he feared that their two previous encounters would follow them. Yuri frowned at his peculiar behaviour. _

_"I'm not moving until you tell me what's going on," he declared adamantly. "Who was that man? Why were you acting strange around him? Why are you _still_ acting strange?" he demanded, dead set on getting answers today. _

_He would not let the pianist slip away as he always did._

_Flynn scowled ever so slightly as he tried in a failing attempt to tug the other's arm to make him move again. _

_"I'm certainly not acting strange and there's nothing going on. As for who that man is, I'm sure Franz presented him to you or he did himself. He's Duke Leonard Lefevre, a well known noble to the court. There is nothing more to it," he answered in the most assuring tone he could muster. _

_Yuri's eyes only narrowed at the reply, feeling anger bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. He was getting tired of this game and he wished nothing more but for it to end. He wanted answers, real and satisfying ones!_

"_Don't toy with me! You're as white as a ghost! Even now you're still making sure that they're not – or rather he's not – following us! Do you really think I'd be dumb enough not to see through you? You're like an open book! You know something, and it's obviously related to me! So you'll do me the pleasure of spilling what you know!" _

_People near them were gradually silencing to stare and listen in on their strange conversation with Yuri regretting being louder than he should have and wanted to be. As realisation dawned upon him, Flynn's body began to show signs of nervousness once more. _

"_Look, now's not really the time, and..." he trailed off, but was never given the time to finish his excuse because the writer grabbed both his arms and squeezed them tightly. The pianist hissed in pain, struggling to get away._

"_I don't think you understood, Flynn. I'm tired of this game. I've let you get away numerous times with the fact that you know a lot about me but don't want to tell me. Today's the last straw. What is going on, already? What kind of relation does that man have with me?" _

_It would be easy for the blonde to overthrow his assailant, but he did not want to make a scene, not here when a lot of people were staring at them as though they were animals caged in a zoo, murmuring shocked mockeries about the pair. Flynn stared back at his friend, trying not to flinch at the pain that shot through his arms. _

"_I'm sorry, I can't," he whispered apologetically even if he knew it would only help in making Yuri see red. _

_And as he predicted, the writer only grew more furious, now completely blind to his surroundings. The only thing that stopped him from lashing at the pianist outright was a perky female voice near them that spoke up to Flynn._

"_Ah, there you are! I was starting to worry because you were not coming back! What has taken you so long, Frederic?" _

_The two heads turned to their interlocutor and saw light brown hair and turquoise eyes staring straight at them in question. The princess was merely feet away, most nobles having stepped away as she made her way to the two. And now that she had found them, she seemed completely oblivious to the tense atmosphere, especially now that her gaze shone in pure delight as she spotted Yuri. It seemed she was right to assume who exactly the man was. _

_"Oh! You must be Mr. George Sand, am I right? I'm so glad I can finally meet you!" _

Because of Estelle's interruption – Yuri had manifestly decided that Estellise was too long and that he would nickname the princess as well, despite the pianist's vehement protests – the long haired man was unable to extract the information he wanted from Flynn and the latter got away with it again. When they returned to the blonde's home, the writer did not even try to reiterate the argument. He knew it was no use and that the musician would hold his ground. Since that moment, Yuri gave his host the silent treatment, not even sparing a glance or acknowledging him even when he prepared their meals and ate at the same table. He was furious and Flynn would have to understand that.

Sensing that staying cooped up in his room would only dampen his mood, the raven haired male sighed as he made his way out of his room, then left the house after grabbing his coat. He needed some fresh air and a bit of socialisation after not speaking to the other for two entire days. Maybe he could go see Karol. He had not visited the boy in a while, after all.

He managed to go to his little friend's home in a cinch. If anyone asked, he would never admit that it was because he was lucky enough to have met Karol by chance weeks after their first encounter and that he had observed their surroundings more closely as they made their way to the commoner's neighbourhood. Yuri would rather boast that he just had a good sense of orientation.

Yuri spent at least two to three hours playing with the boy. His visit had also another purpose: since he now worked and had some income he had no idea how to use, he decided to spend some of it on the kid's family. He knew they were in a tight situation, and so he helped in all the ways he could, which meant bringing food and gifts such as clothes, shoes, tools, toys and many more. He did it in the most discreet way and always convinced the parents expertly to accept everything he brought. It was his own way to be of help. He also donated frequently to the local orphanage he discovered during his walks. Since Flynn refused his money for the house or the food, this was the only way he found to spend his money, not interested in any materialistic articles. Of course, what he endowed the others with was not much because he wasn't making such a big income and he also wanted to keep at least a little just in case, but he was doing his best to help.

An hour before the afternoon was about to come to an end, Yuri returned home. As he made his way to the front door, he found it unlocked and guessed that Flynn must've already been back. A sour expression took ahold of his features, but he also found the fact a little off. If he remembered correctly, the pianist was not supposed to be back until an hour later or so. The long haired man shrugged indifferently. Maybe one of his students had cancelled and besides, he did not care.

As he made his way through the house, he did not see a trace of the pianist, but deduced that the other man was in his study. The dark haired male went directly to his room, still not in the mood to be in any place he could potentially see Flynn. When he entered, he immediately knew something was off as he spotted his notebook on his night table, blatantly open. A frown creased Yuri's forehead as he approached slowly. He knew he closed that notebook earlier in an excess of annoyance. Had the pianist invaded his privacy just like the first time he discovered Yuri wrote an entry? The anger he already had present at the blonde only increased as the writer immediately jumped to the conclusion, not thinking that it was unlike the musician to enter his room without his permission. Fuming, the long haired man stormed out of his bedroom to the study, well intent on yelling at Flynn for such intrusion.

He stopped dead in his track, however, when he spotted a lone figure inside that should definitely not have been there. Liszt was sitting at the piano, caressing the smooth ivory keys' surfaces. The latter turned his head at the sound of steps and a disappointed look crossed his face upon the realisation of the person that was now with him.

"Ah, I had hoped that Chopino was back, but it seems it's only you," he commented in bitter dismay.

He then proceeded in ignoring the newcomer and returned his attention to the instrument as the raven haired male made his way into the room in strides, halting next to the piano.

"What are you doing here? If Flynn's not here, how the hell did you enter? I'm sure I locked the door before I left! Did you break in? I had no idea you could stoop so low," the writer seethed through his teeth, bristling with hatred; all thoughts of the notebook gone.

It was the last thing he wanted, to be invaded by the man he despised when the blonde pianist was not home.

A chuckle erupted from the sophisticated man's lips as his fingers lowered a few keys in a short melody.

"Of course you locked the door. However, I did not break in; you don't have to worry about such matters."

At that very moment, the brunette produced a key from his pocket and presented it to Yuri whose eyes widened in horror. "Little Chopino gave this to me a few months back," Liszt asserted with pride, his predatory grin full of spite and enigma.

Cold dread filled the long haired man's heart at the news as he tried to comprehend the reason for this gift. Flynn could not have truly given such a key, right? Giving a key usually meant... it usually meant close intimacy between two people. If the blonde was willing to give constant access to his home, it must mean that Liszt was someone very important to him, maybe even _the_ most important...

Wait, no, Yuri needed to get a grip. Surely that was not the real explanation, surely there was something else. He needed to ignore the waves of anguish going through his chest, as though needles after needles relentlessly pierced his heart. He would think coolly on the matter and wait for explications instead of jumping to conclusions himself.

"Why..." he found himself whispering in spite of himself.

Did he truly want to hear the answer? Somehow, it felt as though his heart would not be able to take it. It was asking Yuri to just ignore that hateful man and wait for Flynn to explain the situation.

Another chuckle emanated and Yuri opened the eyes he had not realised he closed. The mocking expression on the other's features proved how much the brown haired pianist was enjoying the display before him; how much he loved making the writer suffer. This made the long haired male frown in annoyance. Why was he not putting on his usual mask of indifference in front of Liszt? Yuri could not afford to let the musician in on his real feelings.

Liszt stood from the bench and as he circled round the long haired man, placed a hand on the latter's right shoulder before he pressed himself against the other.

"Why?" he murmured in Yuri's ear in a teasing tone. "It's quite an easy answer. He did not want me to wait outside when I came to visit. It would be too much of a hassle. Besides, we... have a thing going on," he finished as he released the other's shoulders, tapping the key lightly on his lips with his mocking and dangerous smirk still plastered annoyingly upon his mouth.

The writer wanted to rip it off from his face, but in the end, he kept a facade of neutrality, knowing that the man was Flynn's friend and that it would be bad if Yuri as much as touched at Liszt. The raven haired male's mind was attempting at being rational, telling him that he should ask the blonde pianist first if those words Liszt uttered were indeed true. But deep down, his heart was beginning to falter, wailing painfully. Yuri could not stand it.

Not able to take the mocking sneer anymore, he strode away back to his room, to his sanctuary, where he could at least find peace. Each step he took towards the room only made the last words he heard echo harder in his mind, taunting him. Each time he did, Yuri's heart would waver painfully. He crossed the threshold of the bedroom and closed the door behind him, sliding against it until he was in a sitting position. As he mulled over the pianist's words, his chest constricted in absolute pain and he found that the room was spinning at a quick pace, dizzying and sickening him. A buzzing sound echoed unendingly in his ears, only growing louder with each passing second. It was only after trying to find out why he was experiencing such symptoms that he realised he was not breathing right and was in fact, _panicking_. Growing aware of the fact, he inhaled deep shaky breaths, attempting to regain a certain composure. It was harder than he believed it would be, considering how hurt he felt, but he managed to regain mental stability and to shut the noise out completely..

Yuri buried his face in his hands, grabbing strands of his hair tightly as he balled his hands into fists. His body shook all over as the pain submerged him again. He knew he should get a grip, he knew he should not believe a single word that hateful man said until he at least asked Flynn for the truth. Despite that, the thought of Liszt and Flynn being maybe lovers made him suffer continuously and sorrow was engulfing his very being every time his mind processed that the blonde could not be... his. So that was it? But it was not possible. Yuri barely knew the pianist from a few months back. Was it really enough to...

To fall in love?

And yet, as hard as he would try to convince himself of the opposite, the writer could not. It was incredulous, almost impossible, but in that short amount of time, Flynn became the most important person he wanted to cherish. Even if the musician kept so many secrets from Yuri, even if he was the most infuriating person to be with, the long haired man loved Flynn with all his heart. He loved everything he had come to learn of the man: his handsome figure, his stubborn attitude, his elegance and gentleness, his talent... everything.

As he finally understood what he came to feel these last few months, Yuri's inner self merely laughed at him. What good could he be to Flynn? He was nothing but a petty writer who was taking advantage of the pianist's kindness. Liszt, however, was something else. As much as Yuri hated to admit it, the two pianists fitted each other; they were from the same world, knew the same people, and had the same interests and talents.

Even if the writer's heart protested, claiming that he and Flynn were merely two opposing characters whose personalities only either complemented one another's well or caused a flurry of discord, that surely it could work in the end, Yuri refused to believe so. The long haired male knew that such logic could only be something that he, who wanted the blonde to be his, concocted. He was well aware that such a reality was not possible; he could not remain in denial. It would be best to step down and let Liszt be with Flynn, if it was not already the case.

A single droplet ran down his cheek and he let it roll down in stupefaction. What should he do now? Staying with the musician, knowing that his love should not be returned, would be too painful. And yet, he did not have much money, not nearly enough to buy a place to stay. Besides, most of his money went to fund people in need, he saved too little to be able to make a living and, in all honesty, did he really want to leave this place? He cherished Flynn with all of his heart. He always wanted to be by the pianist's side and protect him. As long as they stayed friends, as long as he did not know Yuri's feelings, it would be fine, right? The long haired man could tolerate the suffering. Then it was decided: he would stay and continue to save up. If one day, it truly became unbearable for him, he would move out with the meager dough he would have made.

In his train of thoughts, Yuri had not heard that his host was back and was speaking with his fellow pianist, oblivious to the suffering the writer was experiencing. The latter only realised it when he heard a knock on his door that startled him violently, and when his eyes landed on the clock, he saw that it was well past the time he usually prepared dinner. It must have worried Flynn.

"Yuri? Franz told me you were in here. Are you alright? You're usually in the kitchen at this hour," he voiced out as an observation.

The dark haired male stood, rubbing his eyes and dusting his clothes, trying to look proper. The last thing he wanted was the pianist worrying about him.

As he opened the door, he offered his friend a light smile.

"I'm fine. I was just concentrating on my work. I'll go prepare dinner right now."

Flynn was startled, definitely not expecting the long haired man to actually answer him. His surprise did not last long, however, as he examined the writer a bit more closely and frowned in concern. He placed a hand on Yuri's arm, stopping the latter in his track as he headed for the kitchen.

"Are you sure? You look a bit pale. You're not coming down with something, are you?" he asked gently and with slight hesitancy, as though he feared the dark haired male would snub him the minute he realised he was talking to the pianist once again.

It took him by surprise when nothing happened except a strained smile thrown at him and a shake of the other's head.

"I'm fine, trust me. A bit tired, is all. My novel's being difficult. Anyway, I'll go make dinner now. I'm sure you must be hungry."

Without further ado, the writer left his friend's side, leaving an unsure Flynn. The latter did not understand the change of attitude and he was not sure he could be glad that Yuri was talking to him once more when he was feeling so down. The musician sighed softly and looked at the spot the other was a minute ago, wishing that things did not need to be so complicated.

* * *

"Yuri? I think you should come see this," Flynn's voice resounded through the house, loud enough to reach the kitchen from the study.

The writer raised his head from his papers and frowned slightly, wondering what that edge of hesitancy and anxiety could be. Had he imagined it? He just hoped nothing was wrong with the pianist. Standing up from his chair, the long haired man quickly made his way to the piano room, getting himself ready for what would await him.

He felt a little confused upon seeing the blonde sitting on his couch, a newspaper in hand. As the latter saw his friend approach, he beckoned him closer and handed him the object in question. His eyes gazed uneasily into Yuri's when the dark haired male sat next to him questioningly.

"I think you need to read that article," he declared, pointing the one on the front page.

Raising an eyebrow, the writer gazed down and saw the title written in big bold letters that read _The lily murderer strikes!_ The long haired man's eyes widened in shock as he processed their meaning. It could not be; this was only a coincidence! But as he continued to read on, the information written told him the opposite. Everything was there: the way the young women between twelve to eighteen years old were lured into dark alleys and were changed into pure white dresses, were violated and then stabbed in the neck to be drained of their blood. Bouquets of white lilies were then left in their arms as the sole proof of the murderer's presence.

It was exactly the same as the murders in one of his books.

It certainly was not only his imagination either, because his name was even mentioned in the article. Apparently, it was already the third murder in this manner and people could not believe that the killings and the books were unrelated anymore.

Yuri clenched his fists tightly, crumpling the newspaper at the same time. He could not believe someone was trying to dirty his name. Because it was obviously what they were trying, using his stories and making them a reality. The writer was sincerely surprised the Imperial Gendarmerie had not yet shown itself at his door. Of course, no one had proof, but he was still a potential suspect that he was sure they would love to interrogate. It certainly was a matter of time before they made themselves known. It was not a secret he lived here, after all.

"I can't believe this!" he groaned in frustration and released his hold on the paper until it fell unceremoniously onto the low table.

He fell back on the couch as his hands reached the side of his head, massaging his temples to prevent the headache he was already sensing. How could this be happening? Who would be mad enough to use a writer's ideas?

He lowered his fingers as he felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and turned to meet the compassionate gaze he was given.

"It's okay, Yuri. I know you didn't do this. Whatever happens, I'll back you up. You won't be going to prison, I'll make sure of it."

A light smile graced the writer's lips and he nodded, thankful.

"Yeah, I doubt it would be good for my reputation otherwise," he joked, smoothly hiding the real feelings such a gesture provoked.

Ever since he realised his feelings a month back, the little nothings Flynn did without realising were always enough to send butterflies flapping in the long haired man's stomach, making it more unbearable each time as he knew those feelings should not be returned. However, he kept it to himself, suffering in silence as to not inconvenience his friend. Things needed to stay the same as they were, because if that friendship was lost, if the only thing connecting them was severed, Yuri did not know what he would do. Thus why he held on without making it apparent, even if it became harder each passing day.

It was also the reason why he was never able to ask the pianist if what Yuri came to learn from Liszt was true. Every time he would open his mouth to question, he would find himself changing the subject rapidly. His heart refused to hear the truth and be crushed.

A knock coming from the front door tore the dark haired male from his thoughts and dread built up in the pit of his stomach. Despite knowing he did nothing wrong, the fact that the police might be at his doorstep for questioning did not appeal to him in the least. Flynn was the one to stand in order to get the door, but Yuri followed close behind, almost sure as to who exactly would be found on the other side. And sure enough, as the pianist opened up, two gendarmes were waiting rather impatiently. One was of average height, was slightly hefty and was in his forties approximately. He wore a moustache, his hair a very dark brown. His dirty blonde companion was a bit taller and looked younger. His blue eyes were glancing between the house's occupants, and his partner. His whole being exuded inexperience compared to the older man.

"You must be Mr. Chopin. I am inspector Leblanc and this here is my assistant Alexandre Devereaux. He and I have heard that a man of the name George Sand resides in your house. If it is possible, and if he is at home at the moment, we would like to have a moment with him," the first officer requested.

Yuri sighed dejectedly as he approached Flynn, making his presence known. He should have guessed that they would arrive as soon as he learnt of the matter. Things always seemed to pop up that way. For the first time in months, the writer regretted agreeing to use his penname as a name known by everyone. If he had kept it as a nom de plume just like in his original plans, those policemen would not have been able to find him.

"It's me. I'm guessing you're here for the murders?" he inquired half-heartedly.

He then moved away from the door and walked back towards the kitchen, motioning for the others to follow.

"Come in, I guess I'll go make some tea," he offered boringly, scrunching his nose in annoyance. He wondered how long they would be here and what kind of questions they would ask.

Flynn shook his head in discouragement as he closed the door behind the two officers. He could see by their expressions how they did not take well the raven haired male's behaviour.

"George, I don't think your attitude is helping you in any way," he called out since the other man was already inside the kitchen.

Knowing Yuri, however, the musician could picture him shrugging nonchalantly, as though he did not care in the least. It only troubled him more.

The writer brought a cup of tea for everyone once they were all sitting at the table.

"So, you wanted to ask me questions?" he reiterated their previous topic as he sipped on his own warm liquid, his onyx irises analysing their two visitors in order to depict how this discussion would turn out.

The older one seemed professional enough and would certainly only ask what was necessary, but there was still an edge of doubt in his eyes as he stared at Yuri. The assistant, however, would stick to it until he was satisfied with answers that the long haired man could certainly not give. It felt as though he was well intent on proving the writer was the one who murdered those innocent young girls. It irked Yuri, who was not at all in the wrong.

"Yes. As you have stated earlier, we are here because of the murders that took place in the previous month. Three assassinations were already committed, all in the very same fashion. The three young women, Sophie Toscan, twelve years old, Catherine Dumars, fifteen years old, and Marianne Dufour, sixteen years old. I'm certain you've seen the reports in the newspaper already, and thus must know why we came to you," Leblanc stated calmly.

Yuri nodded absent-mindedly, running his forefinger on the edge of his cup in a distracted way.

"The girls were dressed in a pure white dress. They were violated, and then stabbed in the neck to be dried of their blood. Then, a bouquet of white lilies would be laid in their arms as a last sign of the purity they once had. That pretty much sums up the lily murderer in my books, yes," he affirmed, his eyes looking up at the policemen.

The blonde one was fuming, already on the verge of accusing the writer, but a single look from his superior dissuaded him.

"Then I do hope, Mr. Sand, that you understand why we have come here today," he added with insistence. "Were any of the victims acquaintances of yours?" he asked, flipping a notebook in order to write down everything of use.

Yuri simply shook his head.

"Not at all. I'm not from around here and arrived only a few months back, so I don't have that many acquaintances if you don't count most nobles I sometimes see in Flynn's parties and social gatherings," the writer replied, indicating the person in question with a motion of his head, knowing that the name would seem weird to the two officers.

He could sense the question that would follow from the way the inspector narrowed his eyes ever so slightly at this piece of information. "I'm from Poland, in case you were wondering. Just as Flynn did, I escaped the crisis currently taking place."

"Would you care to show me your papers, Mr. Sand? Because I must say they were particularly hard to find in our files," Leblanc admitted.

His face clearly read he was not expecting the long haired man to produce any paper, but Yuri had more than one trick up his sleeve. A month ago, around the time he met with Duke Lefevre, he told Flynn the excuse he gave for his presence in France when he was obviously not a native. It had shocked the blonde at first, and he blatantly asked if Yuri had recovered his memories. The latter explained it was not the case, but that his mind spontaneously replied on its own, thus certainly meaning he once knew of that crisis. It had irked the writer when he realised that the pianist was relieved he had not remembered everything, but he let it go for once, not in the mood to argue.

Ever since then, the blonde had the great idea of using such an excuse and told Yuri he would speak to some of his contacts in order to create papers for 'George Sand', a refugee coming from Poland. The long haired man was incredulous for a moment, before he burst out in laughter, not believing how Flynn-the-goodie-two-shoes could stoop so low as to go against the law and create papers. It irked the musician, who flatly voiced out that he preferred a safe friend and that it would not kill anybody. By then, it took every ounce of willpower for Yuri not to blush at the statement and the subject was closed.

The raven haired man walked back into the kitchen, papers in hand that he laid in front of the inspector. The policeman examined them, almost disappointed he could not find anything wrong with them and thus finding an incriminating point against the writer. Yuri threw the two officers a cat like grin, lazily resting his chin in his hands as he stared at them, which infuriated Devereaux. The dark haired man was startled when an elbow was shoved into his sides. He winced in pain, glaring at his assailant.

"Hey! What gives, Flynn?" he demanded moodily.

The blonde was definitely not in a better frame of mind.

"Stop acting like that! It looks suspicious and if I were them, I would really start doubting your innocence," the musician warned in a reproachful tone, making Yuri pout as he crossed his arms across his chest.

It was not like he could help it; it was just the way he was. Besides, they irritated him and he wanted to at least have some fun.

Flynn sighed in discouragement. "I'm sorry, officers, but that's just the way he is. I'm sure even if you continue with your questions, you'll find that he can't be the murderer," he reassured in a gentle tone, trying to save at least a little of the long haired man's reputation.

The latter, even though still ruminating, realised that, indeed, he was not helping himself. Besides, if he were more cooperative, it would be over sooner, so he might as well start now.

"Hmm, of course," Leblanc trailed off, doubt lacing his tone.

Despite that, he kept on with his questions, turning back to the subject of his work. "Mr Sand, where were you exactly on the night of November 27th, between seven o'clock and midnight?"

With a frown, Yuri found himself turning towards the wall where a calendar was hung.

"The 27th?" he repeated, slightly taken aback. He frowned. "That was two weeks ago," he trailed off as he searched his memories.

It was a rather long time ago and it was difficult to recall what he had been doing. It must not have been a productive evening.

"I was here actually. I didn't go out that night," the writer finally replied, arms crossed against his chest.

His feet pushed his chair up to make him swing on the two rear legs instead of staying steady on four. Now that he thought about it, Yuri realised that he was not one to go out that much, if he did not count the various soirees Flynn brought him to or the walks he took during the evening. This was a bit... pathetic. No wonder he has been easily bored lately. The piano and his writing were definitely not enough to occupy him all the time. He needed to get out more.

"Was there someone with you?" Leblanc insisted, his pen running wild on his small writing pad.

The long haired man shrugged nonchalantly, about to answer that the host of the house was usually with him, but as he turned his onyx irises to the pianist, he saw the uneasy expression the latter wore. Frowning, Yuri inquired on what was wrong. He far from expected the answer given to him.

"I wasn't there."

Yuri's eyes widened and, for a moment, he thought he had heard wrong. Flynn certainly did not just admit that he was not in the house that particular evening, right...? Because if it were true, it would put the dark haired male in a very tight situation.

"Franz invited me over and I wasn't back until twelve thirty. Unless someone came over, you were alone all evening," Flynn added.

His friend could not believe his ears. He definitely did not hear wrong and it both irked and worried him, especially when he saw the victorious smile plastered on Devereaux's lips as he glanced back at their two visitors.

The raven haired man sighed in frustration, massaging the sides of his head to prevent the growing headache from coming.

"That doesn't prove anything! It happened once, what are the chances it happened again?" he retorted irritatedly. There had been two other murders, he certainly had an alibi during that time!

"Very well, let us see," Leblanc told as he flipped through his notebook. "Where were you on the night of December 6th, between eight o'clock and midnight, once again?"

That was the previous week. The long haired man did not do anything specific once more, and he told just that as he turned to Flynn. However, the pianist shook his head, stating that Liszt had invited him to a play. Yuri remembered that particular evening; he had been pouting over the fact that the blonde was starting to spend more time with the brown haired pianist. Flynn, with an amused smile, had promised his friend he would get him out soon, but it never stopped him from going to the theater that night, leaving Yuri alone and frustrated.

Leblanc was not relatively impressed with his suspect's lack of alibis.

"Hmm..." He was pursing his lips as he wrote down a few notes again before looking up at the writer who expected the next question. "And where were you last night, between eight o'clock and midnight?" he stated.

The raven haired male suddenly realised that he had paid a visit to Karol that night and his face lit up at the thought.

"I went to see a friend of mine," he replied victoriously, glad to finally have an alibi that would stop the suspicions casted upon his being, but the inspector's impassive face did not change.

The long haired man did not savour his victory for long as he understood this alibi would not be enough.

"All night?" the assistant inquired almost viciously.

Yuri lost his smile and frowned.

"No..." he admitted reluctantly. "I came back here around nine. The house was empty because Flynn went out with Liszt again," he told, sensing they would ask if he was alone or not at that time.

He became sullen, knowing very well he had no alibi whatsoever. What proof could he give then, since no one had ever been with him most of the time because of that damn frivolous pianist? That was when realisation dawned on Yuri and he pondered furiously on the three nights the murders occurred.

"Wait a minute," he mumbled, his frown increasing as his hand reached his mouth in pensive stance.

All three other's attention were instantly on him. "That can't be a coincidence, can it?" he enunciated, staring at his friend. "I mean, all three nights, you were away with _Liszt_. Surely there's some connection to be made out of it, right?"

Flynn scowled, not pleased by the raven haired male's hypothesis.

"Are you suggesting that Franz would have a role in the matter?" he questioned almost dangerously. "George, that's ridiculous! This is certainly not Franz's work. Also, why would he have a part in this set up anyway? It doesn't make sense!"

Yuri growled inwardly, but most of all, he felt hurt. Of course Flynn would take that man's defense. They were very close, after all, if not lovers... Ugh! The mere word was enough to make his skin crawl...

"He hates my guts. I think that's enough reason," he added bitterly anyway, averting his eyes stubbornly.

The musician seemed surprised at such an accusation and he shook his head in disbelief.

"What? That's the first I've heard of it! You're right in saying that the both of you are not getting along that well, but I doubt it's to the point of hating! He never mentioned anything of the sort to me! I'm sure you're thinking too much of it."

Yuri wanted to protest and snort at the same time, to say that Flynn could certainly not know because Liszt was a good actor in front of the blonde. However, Devereaux cut him in before he could even pronounce a syllable.

"It sounds more to me like you're trying to put the blame on someone else, Mr. Sand," he stated with narrowed eyes, folding his hands together on the table.

"And I'm telling you that someone is trying to incriminate me when I've done nothing wrong!" Yuri exclaimed loudly, badly wanting to shove his fist at the annoying smirk thrown his way.

What was with that man and his intense need of throwing him behind bars? Was the police so desperate on incriminating the first suspect that fitted the murderer's description slightly in order to please the population?

"What would be the point in committing the murders I've written in real life anyway?"

"For popularity, Mr. Sand," Leblanc responded in a poised voice, never once losing his cool despite the fact that doubt only grew in his eyes.

Unlike his assistant, he seemed keener on finding as much proof he needed before accusing anyone.

"I would not be surprised to learn that the number of sales of your books has increased drastically since the murders happened and the connection has been made between the two," he explained as he flipped through his notes, reviewing testimonies he collected so far to try and make connections with the new information he received.

The long haired man huffed in annoyance.

"That's not publicity I would need, seriously. Also, if I really were the murderer, I don't think it would be useful to me if I were to be caught, so why would I use such means? There are many other _legal_ ways to raise the number of sales. I wouldn't murder innocent girls who've never done anything wrong and deserve to have a chance at life."

Yuri could scarcely believe it. They were really thinking he might have done it. Not that Flynn was much help either, with the fact that he was never with Yuri when all those events occurred. What kind of calculating psychopath would use a plot revealed to the entire country that he made himself? It did not make sense at all!

Yet, the older officer only shook his head at his words.

"I've heard that kind of speech a lot, Mr. Sand. However, it did not stop those murderers to commit crimes. Such people are terribly good liars and don't seem to feel any compassion for their victims."

Yuri's heart started to hammer violently in his chest as he feared the worst. He would not really be...

Flynn, also apprehending the same verdict, opened his mouth to protest, but never was given the time.

"Fortunately for you, we do not have enough proof and too little testimonies against you to incriminate you," the older officer stated. The writer's heart calmed down and he sighed lightly in relief. "However, you are still our primary suspect. The murders and murderer's description fit you well, because a witness saw a tall and lean man executing the crimes. Your alibis are also... non-existent, if I should permit myself, and thus makes you easier to suspect. That's why, if I were you, Mr. Sand, I would be careful with my actions in the following weeks. It would be unfortunate for you to be imprisoned if what you preach is true."

Yuri glared at his interlocutor. It left the inspector unimpressed as he stood from his chair, Devereaux copying his movements. The latter did not seem pleased by the outcome, but said nothing more in the end. Cold and distant handshakes were exchanged, then Flynn saw the two officers to the door. The long haired man, however, stayed behind with his thoughts. Despite the pianist's protests, the writer was sure Liszt was up to something in that whole crazy story. What he did, he was not sure. But he would find clues and make sure that that man would be judged by the hands of the law!

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**A/N:** And here you have it, chapter three! I hope it was up to your expectations ^w^ I kinda struggled with Yuri figuring out how he loved Flynn, but thanks to MoonlightLily's advices, I think I might have done a better job than initially. Tell me what you think ;p

You're also starting to see Liszt's true colours, fu fu fu~ You really have no idea how this character speaks to me, it's just wonderful! xD

By the way, I wanted to do some shameless promotion here too: **Littlerosebud** and I will be doing a Fluri collab fic together and we'll post it soon~ If you want to check out the summary and the preview, go at the last chapter of her fic **Fall for You** (If you haven't read it yet, do it now! It's awesome!). There's also a link to the cover I drew, if you're interested.

Welp, shameless promotion now out of the way, I already fear the "What? You're already so busy and slow with the updates, and you want to make another fic?" Yeah, well, that project with her came WAY before _Farewell_, so I couldn't really put it on hold. I'll do my best to write them fast, but it's good to know that we're switching chapters, so it'll leave me time to work on _Farewell_ whenever it's her turn to write.

That's pretty much it for now. By guys, see you in the next chapter and thanks for reading! ^w^


	4. Fourth movement

**A/N: **Hey guys! Sorry for the wait, it took me a while to write this chapter and I had planned to post it only when it would have been betaed by my dear beta.

**Edit: **It is now betaed! Thank you so much, **MoonlightlilyXIII**! You're help is so much appreciated~

I won't make you wait any longer, since you've already waited more than enough xD Have fun reading!

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing except the plotline.

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**Fourth movement**

Yuri nervously finished tying the blue ribbon onto the nicely wrapped box on his bed. He did not think he would be good at this sort of thing but it was better than he imagined and he was a little glad. It would be embarrassing to give a gift all wrinkled and not at least slightly presentable.

With a sigh, the writer sat on his bed, running his hand through his long strands. It was already New Year and soon, he would be handling the cooking for yummy meals at the end of the day[1]. After that, he would give this surprise to Flynn. It was not much but he really hoped the musician would like it as it took him three whole days before finding something satisfying and perfect. At least it was ready now; that was one weight less on his shoulders.

He flopped down onto the mattress, next to the present, his arms behind his head, hair sprawling everywhere. Yuri stared at the ceiling as his thoughts roamed back to the last three weeks. No murderers had been caught as of yet and he was still the prime suspect on the police's list. Not only that, but another murder had occurred; on the day of Christmas, no less.

On that particular day, the writer had been cooking all morning and for most of the afternoon, wanting a real feast for the pianist and himself, knowing it would please the former as he seemed to enjoy the dark haired male's food. By then, they ate in the dining room, then moved to the study where a fir tree had been installed as the tradition would. The blonde had felt like playing a few Christmas songs to fit the mood, before they spoke for a bit. Around eight, Flynn admitted to wanting to go to the local church where a mass would take place. The writer had scrunched his nose at the news and stated that he would remain, feeling sure that going to listen to an old man's preach was bound to bore him out of his mind. He would do something more productive instead.

He should have not listened to himself and went instead, but he had been sure that the mass would only last an hour or so and that Flynn would be back in a cinch. He was ever so wrong because the pianist only arrived after midnight, apologizing for his late arrival because he had met a few friends and was invited over for a drink in celebration of Christ's birth.

Then, as predicted, the newspaper announced the murder of a young girl of the age of eighteen years old. Sure enough, the same two officers showed up at the blonde's doorstep, asking for Yuri a second time. They asked relatively the same questions to which the long haired man could only answer the same: he had no alibi and was alone when it occurred. There was still no solid proof against him, thankfully, but Leblanc stated that if it happened another time, they might not be so lenient. It irritated the writer but that was not what infuriated him the most.

Flynn had told him that during that night, he had not seen Liszt at all. It meant that his hypothesis that the brown haired pianist had something to do with those murders was not valid anymore, unless he found other solid proofs. It seemed it had only been a coincidence but Yuri refused to believe so. The damn musician hated him too much to not be participating. The writer would get to the bottom of this mess if it was the last thing he did.

With a sigh, the raven haired male stood from his bed and left for the kitchen. He fumbled through his cupboards and drawers to get the right tools, the fire already starting. Soon, a warm and delicious fragrance of food invaded the kitchen. As Yuri checked on his preparation, kneeling in front of the fire, Flynn made his way in, observing the cook at work with an amused but fond smile. He leaned on the door frame, crossing his arms across his chest, waiting to be noticed, but Yuri was too engrossed in his work and since his back was to the pianist, he never noticed the latter. The blonde shook his head and made his way to the counter where he leaned on an empty spot, hands cupping his chin as his eyes followed the long haired man's every movement.

"Whoah!" Yuri startled as he turned around, spotting the musician for the first time. He quickly placed a hand on his hammering heart, the other holding a ladle. "Flynn, the hell?! Don't do that to me! I was sure my heart would stop!" he complained, moving to his Dutch oven.

"I didn't do anything," the culprit retorted in amusement, watching his friend glare at him murderously with a grin of his own to counter with.

Silence fell in the room once more as Yuri concentrated on his task, ignoring the other as he pouted for being scared in such a manner. But soon afterwards, he finally sighed and turned to the blonde, inquiring on what he wanted.

Flynn suddenly became a little uneasy as he looked everywhere but at the writer.

"Franz invited me over to celebrate the New Year," he began, but stopped once he saw the detached expression on the long haired man's face.

It worried the musician who tilted his head.

"Yuri?" he whispered gently, hoping to receive an answer. The object of his worry turned back to the hearth, his features still harbouring that impassive expression.

"I see..." he muttered evenly, but there was an edge of iciness that the blonde could easily discern. "I see," Yuri repeated slightly bitterly. "I guess it's useless for me to continue cooking, then," he pointed out, throwing the ladle into the Dutch oven, some of the contents inside splashing into the fire, startling the pianist.

The latter was about to protest when the writer turned around, his features pulled into cold smugness as he tried to suppress his irritation.

"I'm sorry, I should have known you would rather go see your _precious_ Liszt," he stated with mockery, his eyes gleaming haughtily at Flynn who looked both outraged and hurt. "Forgive me for not anticipating it. If only I'd used my head a little," he added sarcastically.

"Yuri..." Flynn voiced out softly, but the other ignored him.

"Really, I should have expected it; should've known that buying ingredients and preparing a meal would be useless. I'm sorry Flynn, I'll do better next time," the writer threw his cutting remark once again, laughing humorlessly.

He knew he was being mean and unfair, but he could not help it. Flynn announcing that he wanted to see Liszt rather than him hurt too much.

"I mean, it's not as though I should have been warned beforehand. After all, it's obvious you would want to spend your holiday with _him_."

_Especially if you're both lovers..._

But the dark haired man could not bring himself to say that. Doing so would only officialise the matter and bring more pain; he would not be able to take it.

"It's okay, just ignore me. It's best I be alone, since you seem to enjoy leaving me to myself, after all."

He was being very childish, unfair and mean. But he was too mad to even care. And in his rant, he failed to realise how furious the blonde was becoming. Yuri only stopped when the other slammed his fist on the counter.

"Yuri Lowell, will you shut up already?" his voice boomed as he threw a murderous glare at the writer. "Before you start being so puerile, could you even let me finish what I wanted to say?" he roared, outraged by his friend's attitude.

Flynn could not believe the way the latter was acting and he could not understand it either. What had gotten into the long haired man? Flynn knew that he hated Liszt, but that was no reason to act this way, was it? The writer averted his gaze and crossed his arms across his chest, snorting in disdain. The fact he stayed silent, however, was his way to tell he would listen.

"I never said I would be going there for dinner. I planned on going _after_ because I knew you'd be preparing something."

The anger died down a little to give place to hurt, which shone brightly in the pianist's eyes. At that, guilt slowly seeped into the raven haired male's heart, even though he still stubbornly looked away.

"I also did not plan to leave you alone! How can you even think so low of me? I'm sorry I made such a mistake last week, but I don't plan on reproducing it ever again. All I wanted to ask was if you wanted to come because I'd really like to go, but otherwise, I would stay here with you."

Shock replaced the dark expression and Yuri's eyes widened in disbelief.

He also saw that Flynn, while he spoke, had approached him and they were now merely inches apart. Yuri's heart hammered violently in his chest as he put a leg behind the other, unsure of what he should do. He suppressed the grumble that wanted to come out at the prospect of spending an evening at the brown haired pianist's home. But then again, it might be the best course of action. The writer could always observe Liszt and try to find clues about him.

"I'm not going to leave you alone anymore, I swear. I will not let them imprison you when you have done nothing wrong," the musician confessed as he gently cupped the raven haired male's cheek with one of his hand, his fingers almost brushing the skin in a gentle caress.

It took every ounce of the writer's willpower not to blush as he confusedly stared at his friend. What was going on? Why was he acting this way? That was not alright, Flynn needed to stop! Otherwise, Yuri would believe things that he had no right to.

He quickly took a step backward, avoiding the touch with a bothered expression, admonishing himself for seeing something that could not be. He was imagining things because he wanted the blonde very badly, there was nothing more to it. And as he berated himself, the writer failed to notice the sad and pained, yet nostalgically understanding smile gracing Flynn's lips. The latter closed his eyes tightly and breathed in discreetly before regaining himself, waiting for the long haired man's reply.

It was hard for Yuri to admit it, but it was in his friend's best interest. If the blonde indeed loved Liszt, it would only be normal that Flynn wanted to spend New Year's at his cherished person's place. As disgusted as it made him feel, the writer could only admit that accepting to go would be the right thing to do. It would make the person he loved happy, and it was all that mattered on this holiday. He should not be selfish.

"Fine, I'll go," he muttered reluctantly, but gasped in surprise as he was taken into a warm and tight hug. "F-Flynn?"

"Thank you, Yuri!" the pianist exclaimed happily as he released his friend, a grin plastered on his lips. "I haven't asked Franz yet, however, so I'll go alone first tonight to ask him. I'd go today, but he told me he wouldn't be home, unfortunately. If he agrees, I'll come back to get you and, if he disagrees, then I'll come back to spend the evening with you only. There's no way I'm leaving you alone too long!"

This time, a blush truly made its way on the writer's cheeks and he returned to his cooking immediately, not wanting the other to see it even though it was too late. A proud and amused smirk now replaced the previous genuine happy grin.

As he occupied himself once more to think of something else instead of his embarrassment, Yuri did not take the time to ponder on the musician's last words who definitely sounded weird for someone who was supposed to love another person – if that ever were to be the case. But then again, Flynn surely must be confident that Liszt would accept, so surely nothing needed to be analysed of it.

* * *

Yuri paced into the hall, unable to do anything else, including concentrating on either his writing or playing the piano. He was currently alone in the house, Flynn having left for Liszt's house half an hour ago. Right after dinner, the pianist decided to leave as early as possible so that they could spend and enjoy as much time as possible at their host's. It left the writer bitter even though he let his friend go, as he wanted to give his present to the blonde at least before they were in unwanted company – in Yuri's point of view. The long haired man took consolation in the fact that Flynn promised he would come back to fetch Yuri, so he would offer his gift at that moment. Since the blonde's departure, nervousness and excitement build up in the writer's stomach as he wondered how the present would be received. He hoped so much it would be to the musician's liking!

As he continued to pace around, a knock suddenly resounded at the entrance and the raven haired male frowned slightly. Who could be visiting at such an hour during a holiday? Especially since Flynn was not the type to receive many visitors, if not counting Victoria and Liszt. Intrigued, the writer made his way to the door and opened it, to be met with a young boy who could not be older than eighteen.

"Good evening, sir. I come here on the behalf of Sir Liszt and Sir Chopin. They request your presence at my master's home," he told as he bowed his head.

Yuri's frown only creased and his hand tightened its hold on the door. Was Flynn not supposed to get him himself? He lied, again! Yuri could not believe it. How could Flynn do this to him? Was all he said this afternoon just a joke, a mean way to tease him? Anger slowly replaced the excitement he felt previously as he felt the need to snap at the teenager.

"I'm sorry, I do not want to be rude, but I also have a few other people to go see. Would it be possible to depart soon?" the boy inquired nervously.

It seemed he was sensing the writer's fury and hoped he would be able to get away as soon as possible.

"I'll be fine on my own," the long haired man merely replied icily.

It was the other's cue to flee and he did quite rapidly as the older man slammed the door, pacing back in the hall for a whole other reason. He was mad, so mad! Flynn dared pull his leg once more. He lied, just like so many other times before! Why did Yuri even trust that damn blonde? Why did he even love him?

As he made his way into his room, he spotted the gift still lying on his bed and he was well tempted on getting rid of it. That was all the pianist deserved! Why should Yuri even bother offering a present to such a deceiver? But as he made his way to the package, his fingers merely brushed the wrapping, the dark haired man knew he would not be able to do that. Too much regret would come out of it. Besides, even though it had not been for a long time, he knew Flynn. The man indeed kept many secrets, but he did not lie to such an extent. He was not malevolent, far from it.

Something must have come up and Yuri was almost sure of what it was. Liszt must have convinced the other musician into staying there while his servant did the job of fetching the writer. It still hurt the latter that Flynn accepted so easily, but it was understandable. It left the two with a bit of quality time before he arrived, whether it would be as friends or lover.

He shivered in disgust at the thought, ignoring the pang of hurt at the same time, and grabbed the present in his arms. Even though he was very tempted to stay here, it was a bad idea. If he did, he was almost certain a murder would occur and he would be left with no alibis whatsoever for the third time. It was important he got to Flynn.

Sighing, he left the house after grabbing a coat, walking quickly in the streets of Paris. He knew where the brown haired pianist stayed as he once went there with his friend. It was not very far, a ten minutes walk, and so he remembered the route rather well. Yuri shivered slightly even with the warm protection wrapped around him. The nights were cold in January. His pace quickened, the prospect of warmth very much attractive.

But then, a high-pitched and shrilling shriek full of terror tore the silence of the night and the long haired man froze in his spot, round-eyed. What the heck was that? It sounded like a young girl. Could it be...? Despite the fact that his mind yelled at him to continue the way he was going, his feet took off on the opposite direction, namely the one he heard the scream coming from. He could not ignore someone who was in a danger.

Yuri crossed in a dark alley, restlessness and tension welling up inside, hoping he would arrive on time for the poor girl subject to such torture. He ended up in an abandoned back yard where a single form lay motionless on the ground. At the sight, the writer dropped his package on the ground and his hand flew to his mouth as he did his best to suppress the need to retch. He stared away before closing his eyes tightly, taking deep breaths to calm his stomach as he held himself against the nearest wall. His wobbly legs threatened to keel over any second.

He finally was able to regain some strength and managed to bury the disgust and sick feeling in a corner of his mind. Sadness and devastation now submerged him as he slowly approached the body of a girl who could not be older than fifteen. Her long blonde hair was splayed on the grass and tainted by dark blood that earlier flood from the deep gash in her neck. Her emerald eyes were opened wide in a last expression of horror and fright as her assailant stabbed her mercilessly and fatally in the neck.

The long haired man kneeled beside her and gently closed her eyes, murmuring a quick prayer for her soul. Guilt added up to his sorrow. If it was not for his novel, none of this would have happened to those poor girls, he realised. But then again, never could he have known that it would be used in such a twisted way.

The knife still stuck into her neck disturbed Yuri and, as he stood up, he removed it slowly, observing the blood distractingly. That's when he heard footsteps coming this way and he started to panic slightly. Maybe he should have listened to his mind after all and not come here. Now, if anyone saw him, they would take him for the culprit!

The writer turned his head from left to right, searching for either another way out or a spot to hide. However, there were none. The buildings surrounded him into a dead end, making the alleyway he came from the only exit, and the yard was empty of objects that could help him dissimulate himself. But wait, that did not make sense. If he was trapped, how did the killer managed to get away without Yuri seeing him? There _was_ a way out.

That was when he saw it. There was a ladder that led to the rooftop of the building on the other side of the yard. The dark haired male took off in that very direction, adrenaline pressing him to go faster, but it was too late even before he reached the first step.

"Police, freeze!" a voice he recognized rather well shouted behind him and Yuri halted with dread.

He slowly turned and saw an almost out of breath Devereaux holding a gun in his direction, obviously ready to shoot if his prey tried to escape. The writer did not move, his expression closed.

"Now slowly lay down the knife and no one will get hurt," the assistant instructed and Yuri cursed himself loudly inwardly.

He could not believe that, in his hurry to escape, he had forgotten to get rid of the knife. Now _of course_ they would think he was the murderer.

He crouched in careful movements before placing the weapon on the ground just as instructed. He then placed his arms in the air and slowly stood, knowing it was the best attitude to adopt if he did not want to be shot. Surprisingly, he also remained silent. He did not want to worsen his case when he was already in deep shit.

"Now move over, slowly," Devereaux dictated as he too walked forward towards Yuri, his gun still pointed at the latter.

When they were near, the officer expertly turned the long haired man around, grabbing his two arms and forcing them behind his back before he shackled them none too gently.

"I believe you don't need me to say that you are under arrest, _Sand_," the policeman spat ruthlessly as he shoved the writer forward to the alley.

The dark haired man glared at the other, but did not utter a single word. When he lowered his gaze slightly to move it back in front of him, he suddenly spotted something odd. There seemed to be a speckle of crimson on the lowest button of the officer's long coat. It looked a lot like... blood. Was it old? Yuri could not really tell and it was not like he was given the time to check either as he was shoved even more forcefully. It was still off and he kept the information in his mind.

As they emerged from the other side of the alleyway, the long haired man saw that a police coach was already waiting for them, another police officer at the horses' reins. Devereaux, who was now holding his prisoner's arms, pushed him to climb in the cart, but then...

"Yu – George!" They both stopped as they turned their head to the voice and saw Flynn coming their way, a horrified and distressed expression on his features. The writer sent him a sarcastic, yet uneasy lopsided smirk.

"George, what happened? Why are you...?"

"This man here was arrested for the murder of young Cathy Miville, age fifteen. He was found on the crime scene with weapon in hand," the inspector's assistant stated in a professional, yet cold tone that obviously told he was in a hurry to leave and did not want to speak with civilians who had nothing to do with the case.

"I knew this man could not be any good news. Frederic, get away, he is dangerous. Who knows if he could lash at you now that you know his true nature," someone spoke behind the blonde pianist.

Yuri spotted Liszt, who accompanied Flynn, for the first time. The former glared at the brunette with hatred as the blue-eyed musician shook his head in disbelief.

"No, that's impossible; there must be some kind of mistake! George is not like that, not in the least!" he protested vehemently and, even though slightly surprised, the long haired man felt very glad that his friend still trusted him despite the unusual and incriminating scene.

"I suppose saying I heard the girl scream and I immediately ran to the source of the sound in order to help her, but the real culprit was already gone and she was already dead is rather useless, am I wrong?" Yuri still tried stating his version of the facts, but not hoping much of it.

He knew he was their best suspect. And somehow he also knew that once he would be in prison, the murders would stop. This whole set-up was to accuse him and get rid of him, after all. Even though that would be a good thing, he still did not want to go to prison.

Devereaux probed him to move once more, insisting that he climb in the cart, already annoyed by the time they had wasted.

"Indeed it is. We have all the proofs we need. You're obviously trying to get your way out of it, but it won't work. Now if you'll excuse us."

His last sentence was directed to the two pianists, but one was still not finished, distressed that his friend was being sent to prison so unjustly.

"Wait, you can't do that, not when you can't be sure!" he protested once again, only to be glared at by the policeman.

It was a warning, one that if he continued, he would also be labelled as a potential suspect at best and as an accomplice at worst. Liszt gently grabbed his fellow comrade's arm, trying to pull him away even though the latter kept his heels well planted on the ground.

"Fine then, I'll do my own investigation. Don't worry, Y – George. I promise I won't let you stay in jail for long. I'll get you out as soon as I can!" he swore, which brought a gentle and sad smile to the writer's lips.

He felt so touched that his friend trusted him so and he regretted all the times he thought he could not be trustworthy.

That was why he loved him. So much.

He finally climbed in the cart and the door was slammed and locked behind him. He watched through the very small window the blonde pianist still staring at him in determination disappear little by little until they took a turn and were gone from the street.

It would be a long night.

* * *

A groan erupted from the long haired man's lips as he stared at the empty hallway on the other side of the bars. He was currently sitting on his hard wooden... no, he could not possibly call that a bed. His head was lying on the cold stoned wall behind. A knee pressed against his chest, an arm resting on it to let his hand dangle, he thought of various things. There was nothing else to do in this place and he was bored out of his mind.

Flynn had not visited once since his imprisonment the previous night and Yuri just hoped it was because the pianist was still investigating rather than because Liszt had convinced him the writer was not a good man. The mere thought made the latter scrunch his nose and he sighed heavily, wondering what would happen to him. Apparently, he was currently waiting for the judge to be free because he then would be dragged to a trial that would decide his fate. Yuri was no fool; he knew it either meant prison for life or death. Damn it all, that was so unfair! Why was whatever god above so against him?

His reflection brought him back to the blonde musician and he remembered for the umpteenth time how he dropped the gift he was supposed to give his friend the previous day. Once again, the dark haired male cursed himself for his neglect, even though he had all the good reasons for forgetting it on the ground when he was captured.

It still annoyed him to no end, because Flynn would never get his present when Yuri would have loved to see the former use it. He knew how elegant the man was when he walked with his walking stick, and so he bought him one that looked like a conductor's baton. It was a gorgeous stick, the hilt framed into a treble clef inserted into a stave[2]. It was befitting a composer such as Flynn. Alas, it would never meet its owner because the long haired man now considered the item to be lost. Such a waste.

Yuri turned his head towards the ceiling and wondered what time it was. He could not tell for there were no windows near his cell. However, judging from the time he already spent in this cramped up space and from the darkness that now filled the corridors outside instead of the little light there was previously, he guessed it must be evening already. When exactly, he had no idea, but he could tell that already twenty-four hours were gone since he arrived. This was discouraging.

Bored and tired of thinking, he decided to get a little shut-eye for now. He lied down on the uncomfortable supposed mattress, staring at the stones above for a little longer before he closed his eyelids. It would be another long night.

A few minutes passed and he suddenly heard noise from outside his cell. Steps were coming this way. He would have ignored it because he was used to it by now, a guard making his rounds from time to time, but the sound of keys clinking together near where he was locked up made him frown. The writer noticed that, despite the noise, the person was trying to be careful and silent; it was not supposed to be here.

Curious, Yuri shifted ever so slightly, half-opening an eye to discreetly spot what was going on. He saw a figure clad in a long dark cloak, the hood draped over its head to hide itself. The long haired man pretended to sleep once more, waiting for what the other person was about to do. He wondered vaguely if it was the real murderer coming to get him this time. After all, he knew it was the purpose of this whole set up: to get rid of Yuri.

A 'cloc' was heard; the distinguish sound of a door unlocking. It squeaked softly, the sound dragging as it opened very slowly. When it stopped, steps followed, approaching the writer's form, halting only near the bed. The raven haired male could feel the other's presence, could hear its breathing, slow and almost wheezing. For a brief second, nothing happened. Then, Yuri snapped his eyes open just in time to see the knife gleaming above him. He rolled out of the bed just as the weapon lowered quickly where his heart would have been.

It stuck to the wood as he whirled from below the killer, standing up once he was in a safer spot. He barely took the time to glance at the other removing the knife from the bed and made a run for the door. The writer knew that the assassin had not locked it behind and so, without a second thought, decided to get out. He did not want to die, after all.

However, as he almost managed to grab the bars to open the already half-opened entrance, the other slammed it closed and the long haired man did not have time to go into shock at the murderer's speed as he had to duck a fist coming to his face. He moved out of the way, his mind working furiously on a plan to get the hell out before anything happened to him.

He jumped on the bed as he sensed the cloaked figure following him and, once it approached very closely to Yuri, the latter jumped above his assailant, grabbing him by the shoulders to push and knock him against the wall. He then tried for the door a second time, but was stopped as his hair was grabbed in a handful and he was yanked away to the ground. What the... that blow was not even enough to at least knock him out a little?!

A gasp escaped the writer's lips when his head collided with the stones and he groaned, seeing stars. Only sheer adrenaline helped him recover faster and he saw just in time the knife plunging towards him. He rolled to the side, but saw the weapon already descending upon him a second time, so he moved in the other direction once more. However, he was not quick enough and the blade tore his skin on the side, making him cry out in pain. Yuri landed on his back, breathing in shallow puffs, but he could not concentrate on his wound at the moment. Both his hands reached for the killer's wrist, stopping the knife from piercing his head. It took every ounce of his strength as he tried to push the other back as the latter forced his way through the dark haired man's defense. He needed to live, he needed to _live_!

Running echoed behind them and a voice shouted in their direction, having obviously spotted the trouble. The murderer raised his head and immediately removed his hand, but not without Yuri making sure to scratch him until it drew blood. He heard his assailant hiss furiously before he made a run for it, escaping from the cell and in the opposite direction the writer's help came from.

The raven haired man sat up slowly, groaning in agony as his hands flew to the wound on his side, bleeding profusely. He vaguely heard someone shout that they would follow the assassin, feeling rather dizzy from the loss of blood. He did hear his name being called out with worry, however and, when he raised his head, he saw Flynn kneeling at his side, one hand cupping Yuri's cheek while the other went to the wounded's injury.

"Damn it, he got you good," the pianist cursed softly before checking that his friend would not be passing out any second now.

The long haired man mumbled the blonde's name in surprise, but the latter shushed him as he laid him back on the ground to take care of the wound.

"It's okay, I'm here. You'll be fine. I'm here to take you out," he whispered soothingly as he tore pieces from his jacket that he could use as makeshift bandages.

A light amused smile graced his lips.

"You know, you'll have to stop getting into trouble, or I won't have enough clothes to take care of you anymore," he teased gently and the other chuckled in difficulty.

"Not my fault all the psychopaths are after me," he retorted in a mutter.

As Flynn rolled the cloths around Yuri's waist, the former took a brief pause to run his hand on his friend's forehead, wiping away the sweat forming and brushing the strands with care. The raven haired male appreciated the gesture and leaned into the touch, wanting to feel those soft fingers more. He was barely aware of the footsteps coming their way and stopping next to the blonde.

"He got away," Leblanc stated frustratingly. "It's as I feared, he knew the place too well. Either it's not the first time he came here, or he moves in this place frequently."

Flynn nodded slowly as he finished wrapping the makeshift bandages. He moved one arm under the writer's knees and the other behind his shoulders and neck and, before Yuri could understand what was happening, he was grabbed bridal style into the musician's arms. Once he realised this, he struggled to get free, but ceased when the pain flared up in his side.

"F-Flynn, I can walk!" he protested after a wince, even though the warmth of his friend's arms was very inviting.

The pianist scowled down at the long haired man, raising an eyebrow in scepticism.

"With that kind of wound, I doubt that very much," the blonde voiced out. "Besides, even if you could, I would certainly not let you, or you'd bleed to your death. So I'll ask you to shut up and let yourself be dragged to the clinic without protests," he admonished and Yuri had no choice but to listen.

Besides, he was too tired to even argue anymore, and so he buried his head in the crook of Flynn's neck, appreciating the care he was receiving. At that point, he did not hear the other two speaking in hurried words before the musician was allowed to leave with the prisoner. The latter only realised the fact a few minutes later and, intrigued, he raised his head to speak as they crossed the threshold between the prison and the police's office.

Yuri spotted a young girl sitting near the desk, looking at them with curious and slightly frightened eyes. The pianist merely gave her a reassuring smile and a nod before he exited the building. Soon, they found their way to a cart and, once inside, the blonde gently sat his friend against him.

"They let you leave with me," the writer reckoned matter-of-factly. It did not sound like a question, but it sought answers.

Flynn nodded with a smile. "They did. You're not the murderer, Yuri. I found the proofs necessary. That girl you saw earlier? She's the sister of one of the victims. I asked around the victim's families and circles, searching for clues. And then, I found her. She was acting a bit suspicious, evading my questions and refusing to answer some of them. It took a lot of convincing before she finally opened up to me. She was scared that, if she told anything, the murderer would come get her next. That's why she never went to the police. I'm glad I was able to make her talk, because she saw a few traits of the killer's appearance. He definitely was not you, since he was blonde for starters."

Yuri's head was lolling in sleep, but he was still listening, albeit a little distractingly. He wanted to know what happened before he fell asleep.

"It seemed it was enough for inspector Leblanc, because he had a hunch of who the real murderer could be. He only accepted to keep you imprisoned because all the odds were against you."

And certainly because he would make good bait, Yuri thought, but did not voice it out for Flynn's sake. The latter kept going.

"He did not capture your assailant yet, however, and since he escaped, there's no way of telling if his hunch is the real culprit. The girl also saw the murderer in the dark, so she could not really distinguish his face traits."

"I scratched him on the wrist. If Leblanc knows the man, then it's certainly going to be a good indicator," Yuri divulged in a thick voice.

He was feeling himself drifting to sleep now that he had the information he needed.

"Really? That's going to be helpful then. I'll make sure to tell inspector Leblanc as soon as I see him. Thank you, Yuri," Flynn told and the writer could hear the smile in the other's voice. "Hey, don't fall asleep, I don't think it'd be good for you," he chastised the long haired man as he poked the latter gently on the arm.

But it was so hard for Yuri, especially when he concentrated on the fingers caressing his strands soothingly. He only wanted to bury his head in the pianist's shoulder and close his eyes before letting himself be taken away by Morpheus' arms. It was unfair that the pianist was so intent on preventing that. With a pout, the writer looked around to keep himself awake. That was when he discovered the item lying next to Flynn and the long haired man's eyes widened.

"That stick..." he breathed in astonishment.

When he raised his gaze to the musician's blue one, he saw the grateful and genuine smile on the latter's lips. His irises were sparkling with delight and it made Yuri gasp, his heart fluttering. He completely forgot about the pain currently flaring at his side; Flynn's happiness was more than enough to send him into a whole other world, a bubble of excitement and joy.

"I found a package when I went on the crime scene to investigate. I recognized your writing on the small card and, since my name was written, I took the liberty of opening it," he explained as he quickly glanced at the nicely crafted conductor's baton. "It's lovely, Yuri. Thank you so much. I'm already using it with care."

The words might not be much, but the expression inscribed on the blonde's features was more than enough to divulge his true feelings about the present.

The raven haired male found himself blushing and burying his face in the other's neck in embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to hide.

"It's nothing, really," he mumbled, which earned a chuckle from the musician and only increased the redness of the writer's cheeks.

The latter weakly hit his friend on the shoulder to make him stop, but it only redoubled the laughter.

"Shut up, already! I said it's nothing!"

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry," Flynn apologized through his chuckling and he rested his head atop Yuri's. "When we'll be back home, I'll give you your gift. I'm sorry I could not give it to you sooner."

The writer stopped himself from gasping a second time. Why was Flynn acting this way? Why was he so gentle and caring? It only made him want to believe so many impossible occurrences. It only made him believe that he could be the most important for the pianist when it was not the case. And as much as it made him happy, as much as it hurt so much, because soon, he would have to awaken from the illusion he so wanted to stay in. Why was Flynn so hurtful? Even if he did not realise it, it was so unfair.

"Yuri?" the blonde called out worryingly as he did not get any answer.

"Yeah, thanks," the writer merely replied evenly, in a distant tone. "You didn't have to."

The musician's gaze saddened and his smile turned bitter, knowing the other could not see him.

"I wanted to, of course," he whispered back, closing his eyes tightly to hide the pain and he squeezed the long haired man just a little more tightly, unnoticeable to the latter. Silence fell upon the two as they both dwelled over lingering thoughts and deep sufferings of what could be and once was.

Why were events so unfair?

* * *

"You failed. He's still alive and up and about," Leonard's voice admonished harshly, sitting in a comfortable sofa as he sipped red wine in his expensive glass.

Music notes were gently ringing in harmony, constituting a gentle and perky euphony. Liszt sat at his piano tranquilly, not bothered the slightest by the tone used against him.

"I did not fail. The opportunity we had simply was ruined. I will find many other opportunities. I am somewhat... close to him, after all. It's easy for me to elaborate another attempt," he explained in an even, uncaring tone.

The music continued, still very carefree and light, reflecting the impression the duke left on the pianist.

"It's because of that damn pianist you hold in such high-esteem. If it wasn't for him, he would be dead by now!" the short haired noble snarled aggressively.

The music gradually turned dramatic as the brown haired man kept playing despite concentrating on his visitor. He was obviously not pleased by the duke's words. Still, he did not speak up just yet, waiting for the other to finish his thoughts.

"He is in the way. Are there not any means where we could shove him aside completely? Or rather yet... _he_ seems to be particularly fond of that pianist. Would it not be better to use that bothersome man instead?"

Deep and low sounds resounded gravely in the room, giving the atmosphere an eerie feeling of danger.

Liszt never turned his head to Leonard, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the keys his fingers were running through. Despite that, his aura darkened and his expression turned frightening in his seething anger.

"I believe I have already stated that anything involving Frederic was out of the question, Leonard. You are seeking my wrath, it seems," he asserted menacingly, his irises barely turning to the side in a sinister glare.

The noble gulped, but did his best to not show how impressed the mere sight left him.

"I was merely stating! No need to be like that!" he exclaimed as he stood from his chair, leaving the glass half-emptied on the table next to him.

His legs moved forward, bringing him to the exit. He only halted as he heard the chilling and spooky murmur behind him.

"You are warned, Leonard. Do not implicate Frederic in this, or you might not live to regret your actions."

The threat was evident and it left the duke furious as he stormed out of the house. He was a noble when Liszt was but a mere artist. He had no power over him; it was quite the opposite! And so he had no orders to take from that damn man. Liszt would see... there was no way Leonard was letting himself be impressed!

* * *

Yuri was staring at the beautiful quill lying on his desk, half splayed on the wooden surface, his chin resting atop his hands. He could not believe the present Flynn gave him. The quill was of an undoubted quality; the trimmed feather was of a dark purplish colour, while the nib was inserted into a silvery shaft, soft to the touch. It was robust and curved in just the right way for the writer's style. He could not have received a more perfect gift than this and it made him very happy. Even if it had already been two weeks since it was given to him, he still found himself staring at it with this bubbly feeling of joy, just as he was doing at the moment.

Not that he had much else to do anyway. In those two weeks since his liberation, he was forbidden from leaving the house, let alone his room. The pianist was dead set on forcing his friend to stay in bed as much as possible to recover and not reopen his wound. He was taking his mother hen role very seriously, to the point that he even decided to do the cooking at some point, not wanting the long haired man to step into the kitchen at all. Yuri feared the outcome, but still ate because of that kicked puppy expression thrown his way. In the end, he almost ended up poisoned because of it. Thankfully, it convinced the pianist not to cook anymore and he asked Victoria to cook a few meals they could keep until the next time she would come.

The raven haired male was left alone in the house and he was glad for it. Since someone was hot on his heels, he would rather be careful and involve the musician as less possible. Of course, the latter stayed home most of the first week to take care of the wounded, making sure he would be alright and that he would not run around when he needed to stay still. But at the beginning of the second week, Yuri insisted that the blonde should go out, go back to seeing his friends and, mostly, Liszt. The name was like venom on his tongue, burning wickedly, but he needed to convince Flynn to get out more. If the murderer ended up vandalizing the house and targeting Yuri, the pianist could get seriously hurt, especially knowing his tendency of wanting to protect the writer.

On the third day of the second week, while Flynn was away to give classes during the afternoon, the writer received a visit from inspector Leblanc. The latter came to apologize for the way the police had treated the long haired man. However, it had been necessary and had allowed him to discover the real culprit, along with the witness' descriptions and the wound Yuri had left on the murderer. It seemed that Devereaux had been the active killer all this time. This explained the blood stain the raven haired male spotted on the button of the assistant's coat. Unfortunately, the man was still on the loose. When he had been discovered, he managed to escape expertly and was impossible to retrace him since then.

Yuri took the opportunity to inform the officer of a clue he discovered over the last two weeks by thinking deeply on it – since he had nothing else better to do, really. He recalled that a week prior to the start of the murders, Liszt came into the house when no one was around. When Yuri got back and went to his room, he found that his notebook where most of his writings were contained was opened when he indubitably knew he had left it close before leaving the house. Since he knew for certain that Flynn had not come back, it only left the brown haired pianist as the culprit. Because the murders were based on his book, the writer could not think that the two pieces of information were unrelated anymore.

Leblanc took note of it and thanked the long haired man for his cooperation before he left. As Yuri wondered if he should remain quiet over the matter as to not worry his friend, Flynn came back and announced he had just seen the police's cart leave. Before the writer could realise what he was doing, he half-lied; he said that the inspector finally managed to arrest the killer and that the man was actually Devereaux.

This plan had so many flaws: if the pianist spoke with Leblanc anytime soon, he would find out this was not true. He could also understand the lie if Yuri was attacked. The dark haired man cursed himself, but he could not bring himself to tell the truth. He did not want the blonde to be in danger. This made up story would only put Flynn's mind at ease and would encourage him to go out more often. The writer would just have to make sure that the musician never learned the truth.

Yuri also never mentioned his hypothesis about Liszt. He did not have enough proofs yet and he doubted Flynn would believe him. The long haired man needed to find out soon if his hunch was the right one or not, because if it was, the brown haired pianist was a dangerous man and the blonde would need to get away. Who knew what that bastard could do to the writer's friend?

The pianist was away, invited to a reception Duke Lefevre apparently hosted. The former was requested to play the piano at the noble's house as entertainment, to which the blonde agreed somewhat reluctantly. Yuri, out of curiosity, was not very far when the conversation occurred at the front door where the duke himself stood, having come over expressly to solicit the musician. The writer found that his friend being hesitant on the matter was weird; it was not Flynn's way, who usually accepted quite easily unless he was asked to produce himself in a concert full of people. However, the reception was private and would thus not contain a crowd.

What was even more bizarre was the subtle glances the musician repeatedly threw at the long haired man. It was as if Flynn expected for the visitor to state he wanted Yuri to come, but never did he mention the writer's name. He even pretended not to notice the raven haired male except for a moment before he left, saluting him before leaving the place. For someone who was eager on meeting the writer before, he did not seem so thrilled about it anymore. This whole situation was strange and the long haired man just hoped that the musician would be all right.

As Yuri grabbed his quill with care, ideas slowly popping in his head for the novel he was currently writing, a knock was heard from the front door. The writer raised an eyebrow in wonder as he turned his head in the sound's direction, wondering who could come at this hour, knowing that Victoria already came long before. He rose from his chair and made his way to the entrance. It surely was someone for Flynn; he was more known than him and it was the latter's house, after all.

The raven haired male was met by the sight of a nervous looking boy who slightly fidgeted at the adult's presence. Judging from his clothes, he was not from high society, and thus must be coming on someone's orders.

"You are Mr. Sand, right?" the child voiced out timidly, fumbling his hands together.

He was obviously not very happy to be here, frightened by who knew what. The writer wondered if it was because of him, but if it was the case, he did not understand what he did wrong. He also did not feel like the dark type to scare children away. He nodded to the child, probing him to continue.

"Master Lefevre requires your presence urgently at his mansion. Sir Chopin fell ill earlier and, despite the fact that my master would like to send him to the hospital, Sir Chopin refuses and insists on coming back home. My master believes it would be best if you came to get your friend."

Upon hearing that Flynn was sick again, Yuri wanted to rush immediately to the duke's home and make sure the pianist would be fine. However, his brain sent alarm signals at the boy's words. Although it did make sense that Flynn would refuse to go to the hospital, the idiot too stubborn to ever want to go there, why did the noble send a servant to get Yuri? Why did he not simply send the pianist back home by cart? If Lefevre was truly worried for the musician's health, he would use that quickest solution to make sure the blonde was safe in bed. _If he was truly worried_...

Something was definitely off. It was as if this merely was a pretext for Yuri to go to the duke's house. The writer suddenly wanted very badly to shake the boy's shoulders and demand answers about Flynn's condition, about what was really going on. But before he could even reach for the child, the latter's face became even more frightful as his gaze flicked around quite frequently, as though someone was near, watching him. He grabbed his right sleeve tightly with his left hand, his body shaking. An expression of plead crossed his features.

"Please, sir..." he begged in a soft voice, fearing that the other would refuse to follow.

The dark haired male's countenance hardened, but it was not directed at the younger person in front of him. He was getting incredibly mad! Not only was it obvious that Flynn was in danger, but the boy also seemed threatened by his master and whatever underling followed the servant to the pianist's house. It was inacceptable and the last straw. He would not let Lefevre get away with this.

"Fine, let's go," he declared a bit more harshly than he would have liked to, making the child flinch ever so slightly, but the latter's face thankfully washed in relief at the answer given to him.

He nodded and immediately turned on his heels to leave, followed by the raven haired male who hoped very much that nothing had happened to Flynn and that his illness did not act up too much during that time.

As they wandered through the streets, Yuri wondered who Lefevre really was. He remembered how Flynn paled drastically when he saw the duke in his friend's presence, which could really only mean the noble was somehow related to the writer once before. Did this mean that the duke had something against Yuri and that Flynn simply was bait? Or that Lefevre really wanted to hurt the blonde? Whatever the answer was, Yuri needed to get to the musician out of the noble's grasp as fast as possible, both for his health and safety.

They arrived to a grandiose mansion fifteen minutes later. The long haired man was on edge, frustrated that so much time was already gone. They should have taken a cart, but the boy never mentioned anything, never answering Yuri's questions either along the way. He must have been instructed to keep his mouth shut and let time elapse as much as possible. Now, who knew in what kind of condition he would find Flynn? It made him so angry, but also frightened him greatly. He would not be able to forgive himself if he did not arrive on time and something serious happened to the blonde.

Despite his dark mood, Yuri found he could not help the feeling of familiarity as he watched the building in front of him. The child opened the front doors for him and let him enter before guiding him through the empty hallways. Again, the sense of _knowing_ those walls and decorations left him perplexed. His train of thoughts was cut short, however. They soon arrived in a vast room that looked to be a music room, the grand piano proudly standing in the middle. There was a staircase leading to a single door upstairs and the walls were filled with frames and paints. A few decorative vases and sculptures, as well as some bookshelves had been added to the cosy atmosphere. Not too far from the instrument were sofas and couches, where Yuri spotted the figure he was searching for. His heart leapt in his throat as he was about to dash to his friend's side, but he suddenly heard the door close behind him and a 'click' sound indicated he had just been locked inside. Eyes widening, the writer grabbed the door's handle, trying to open it in vain.

"I'm sorry," he heard a soft voice apologize on the other side before footsteps hurriedly took off.

Sighing in frustration, the long haired man checked the room, but there were no windows and the only door left was the one on the second floor, which somehow he knew would be a bad solution. If he had been locked from this side, surely it meant that Lefevre would come from the one up there.

Deciding to put the matter aside for now, he quickly went to Flynn, his hands immediately checking his pulse and temperature to make sure he was fine.

"Flynn? Hey, wake up," he called out in a gentle voice, clicking his tongue in displease as he sensed the heat radiating from his friend's skin.

His pulse was a little weak. He was definitely far from fine and, if they did not get out soon, it could get worse. The best would definitely be to get the blonde to the clinic or, at least, the hospital[3].

Eyes fluttered open and hazed deep blue irises stared at worried onyxes.

"Yuri?" the thick voice called out with uncertainty and the writer nodded, caressing the blond locks falling limply on the other's forehead.

Realisation seemed to finally hit the pianist and anxiety took over his features as he pushed himself upward despite his condition, a wince the only trace he allowed to show his pain.

"You can't be here!" he whispered hastily, making the dark haired man frown.

He figured as much.

"Get out, I'll be fine!" Flynn insisted, pushing his friend weakly away for him to go.

However, he started coughing violently, doubling over and hacking up in painful sounds. The writer gently ran his hand in the other's back, hating the horrible sound making him feel so powerless. Still, he told the pianist he could not get out and that, even if he could, he would not leave his friend here when he was not feeling well. As he spoke, the door above them opened, revealing the main villain.

"Ah, Mr. Sand, how nice of you to have finally joined us," he called out from above, smirking at the glare he received from the young man below. "My bad. I've become accustomed to calling you as such when I really should be calling you Yuri."

The glare melted into confusion and bewilderment, and Lefevre's devious grin only grew.

"Ah, that's right, you forgot everything. It is such a pity, if you ask me. But maybe it's for the best after all. That way, you won't get to remember your horrendous deeds before you die," the noble revealed wickedly, to which the long haired man could only wonder what it could mean.

What did he do in his past life? Was he that bad?

Numerous steps echoed in the room and as Yuri turned his head around, he saw four or five men entering the music room from the door that had been locked previously, now circling them. They all carried weapons with them and the writer quickly understood the intention behind their presence.

Yuri Lowell was to die. With no chances of survival.

The dark haired man backed away ever so slightly, his stance now one of protection in front of Flynn. He would, in no way, let them endanger him.

"It's your father who will be quite pleased with this outcome," Lefevre called out as he descended the stairs.

Upon hearing those words, shock painted the long haired man's face and he slowly looked back at the duke, wondering if he could have heard right. His _father_ wanted him dead? Why? What did he do so bad that his own family would want to get rid of him? The noble chuckled evilly, quite pleased with the effect his speech had on the young man.

"It hurts to hear that, doesn't it? To hear that you are unwanted by your own family, that you are discarded as nothing more than a tool. It must be such a strong blow when you have no memories whatsoever..."

"_Stop!_" Flynn cried out before his body was racked by coughing once again.

He was a mess on the couch, now lying on the cushions, his hands grabbing his clothes tightly at chest level where it surely hurt the most. Despite that, he was well intent on halting any information concerning the dark haired man's past. And for the first time, Yuri wondered if the pianist was doing it for the writer's own good, rather than for any other malevolent reason. This single thought snapped the writer back to reality and his features hardened as he hovered over his friend, wanting to make sure that nothing would happen to him.

"Pft! As if I'd care about an old man I don't even know about anymore! You'll have to think of something else to affect me," Yuri finally answered cockily, even if his voice dripped with bitterness and caution.

He was curious. Maybe if he was careful with his words, he could learn more of his past. But the way Lefevre's face hardened, it was clear that the conversation was over.

"Kill him," the noble ordered in a spat and all revolvers were aimed at the dark haired man who closed his eyes tightly, his mind reviewing quickly the possible solutions that would get them out of here.

But there were none. He and Flynn were perfect targets in the line of fire and had little to no space they could move into without being hit. Yuri had failed, and miserably at that. As his heart wildly beat in his chest, he berated himself. He could not abandon now. He would protect Flynn, no matter the cost. Even if he took tens of bullets in his body, he needed to survive, at least until he managed to get the pianist out. It was delusional, but it was better than abandoning.

Fires resounded loudly in the room and Yuri prepared himself. He was not ready, however, to see each and every man targeting him crumpling to the floor, a pool of blood forming around them.

They were dead.

The writer whipped his head to see if it was the case for the duke, but saw him cowering in horror, whimpers escaping his lips at his only security now reduced to piles of corpses. What could have happened?

"My client warned you of the consequences if you involved Mr. Chopin, Leonard. It seems you have not heeded his warnings seriously. You will have to face his wrath after all," a voice announced in a sing-song above them.

The long haired man recognized it very well and, when he looked up, spotted the very man who captured him two weeks ago. The same man who was supposed to kill him. Then why was he here, saving his and Flynn's butt? From the looks of things, Devereaux worked under Liszt, and so it was normal that the blonde was spared. But that Yuri would be as well was not.

The former police officer saw the questioning look on the dark haired man's face and he grinned wickedly.

"You're in luck today, Yuri Lowell. Thank the presence of Mr. Chopin for your survival today. I doubt you would still be standing otherwise," he chanted amusedly, a cat-like grin stretching his lips. "By the way, that was rather useless of you to come without bringing any weapons. You're such a fool!"

The writer gritted his teeth together as he moved a little closer to the balcony, badly wanting to snap at the assassin, but what could he say? The other was right, after all. He came with nothing to protect him. He would have died if it weren't for Devereaux, and it killed him to even think about it. Not because he would not be here anymore, but because it could have endangered Flynn's life as well.

"Yuri, what's going on?" Flynn breathed as he sat up slowly, carefully.

The concerned one looked back at the pianist and cursed. Of course, he completely forgot the lie. The blonde pianist thought that Devereaux was actually back in prison.

"You told me he was captured. You lied to me?" he questioned, unbelievingly. Surely he wanted to assume something else, like the blonde assassin broke free.

Even if it could be easy to use the idea, it was useless. The long haired man knew that the once officer would only refute his lie.

"What, you told him I was captured?" Devereaux snickered, leaning against the banister nonchalantly, smirking mockingly at the writer below, eyes gleaming in interest. "I'm not so pathetic as to be captured by a mere inspector and a few of his underlings," he asserted, his cheek now leaning in the palm of his hand. "He indeed lied to you, Mr. Chopin. You have a very bad friend."

Yuri gritted his teeth despite knowing it might eventually come to this. It did not change the fact that he did not want Flynn involved; he could take care of this whole mess alone.

"Look, that's not important..." the raven haired male started, but was cut in rather quickly.

"Not important? Bullshit!"

The blonde was now standing on shaky legs and walking towards Yuri in the biggest strides he could manage. His fists were clenched and his eyes narrowed in displease and fury. It was as if such anger gave him enough strength to forget briefly the illness plaguing him and hurting his body all over.

"You lied to me!" he accused this time, instead of inquiring. "I can't believe you! Why did you do that? What was the point? So you could shoulder this alone? God, Yuri, you always do that! You idiot!" he cried out, trembling out of fury and strain.

The writer scrunched his nose in annoyance, barely realising that his friend's words implied they knew each other before. Yuri was even more pissed knowing that the assassin was still looking down on him mockingly, not having moved a muscle from the show below.

The long haired man grabbed the musician's shoulders and turned him around, attempting to lead him away of the room, his features still plastered with irritation.

"And I said it's not important, so shut up about it! Right now, we need to get you out to treat you. It's all that matters at the moment, and I won't hear a single complaint about it!" the long haired man exclaimed rather harshly, wanting to get Flynn out of potential danger.

But it seemed that the pianist would not hear it this way and planted his feet firmly in the ground, unwilling to budge. Yuri heaved an irked sigh that went unnoticed under the sudden coughing once again racking the blue-eyed musician's being.

Devereaux protested mockingly at their departure.

"Aww, come on, it was interesting! Don't go yet!" he sniggered as the writer threw him a murderous glare.

However, the previous policeman's smirk melted away and he whipped his head where the stairs stopped on the first floor when all three heard a clicking sound. Lefevre's face was contorted in hatred and was currently holding a gun that he shakily pointed towards Yuri.

"I am not letting you go!" the noble spat furiously. "You're supposed to die today and you're going to die today!" he cried out while the assassin above grabbed his own gun and aimed at the duke.

Loud bangs resounded loudly and Yuri felt himself being pushed away. In this moment, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The raven haired male barely noticed that the duke cried out in pain as his weapon flew away, his hand covered in blood. He hardly saw Lefevre collapse limply on the floor before scrambling on his feet to flee from the room. He was not aware that Devereaux was cursing before calling out to Flynn and him, asking them if they were all right.

What he was aware of was the pianist turning around slowly to face him, a crimson stain growing at a rapid pace on his white shirt, near the right of his stomach. He also clearly heard the hurt and quavering gasp that escaped the musician's pink lips already turning bluish. It was ringing loudly in Yuri's mind, repeating endlessly until it would drive him mad. This could not be happening. This could not be happening!

_This could not be happening!_

"_FLYNN!_" Yuri yelled as he rushed to the crumpling body of his dear friend, gathering the latter into his arms before he could meet the ground.

"Hey, hey, it's going to be okay, you just have to stay with me!" the writer prompted unsteadily, skin paling in fear as he watched and felt the blood gush out in his hands. "You can't die, Flynn, come on!"

His voice broke down as he kneeled in order to lay down the pianist on his lap and lean him against his chest. He needed to stop the blood for now and quickly. After that, he would go to the hospital. Flynn would be fine, he just had to be fine!

A low chuckle erupted from below and the long haired man stared round-eyed at the blonde who was smiling with strain at the other.

"I'm not going to die. Not until I know you love me back," he whispered softly, his hand reaching for Yuri's cheek, brushing it with his cold fingers.

The words left the writer speechless as he gazed at the musician in shock, not understanding what was going on anymore.

"W-what are you saying?" he asked in his trembling voice. "A-anyway, don't talk anymore. You'll waste your strength," the long haired man chastised gently, already removing the sleeveless jacket over his shirt in order to rip it into makeshift bandages.

Yuri could not understand what his friend meant. Was Flynn not supposed to love Liszt? Everything in the last weeks pointed towards that and the writer had slowly accustomed himself to the idea. But now...

The icy fingers left his face and fell to the pianist's side while the latter's smile turned bitter and sad.

"R-right, I apologize. It was a silly idea of mine. Forget it, I won't bring it up again," he breathed with difficulties, his stomach rising and falling painfully.

This time, Yuri could not ignore what was just told. He did not know what was going on, but the meaning was the right one: Flynn loved him back. As impossible as it could seem, it was the truth.

"That's not what I said!" he cried out, hiding the expression in his eyes with the help of his dark bangs covering his forehead.

Even though his heart could burst with happiness at the news, it did not. He was too worried for the pianist's life. If he did not act any faster, the other would die right there in his arms. Yuri did not say more, concentrating on shredding the clothing despite his trembling hands. Someone arrived at the musician's feet, placing a briefcase next to him, and the writer recognized Devereaux when he looked up.

"When you two finish being all lovey-dovey, do tell, and I'll start working on him since you're too much of a burden to possibly do anything, Lowell," the assassin criticized, seriousness painted all over his face.

The raven haired male almost snarled, wrapping protective arms around Flynn, unsure as to what the murderer wanted to do. He was also irked of being labelled as inept, but what could he retort to such statement anyway? He was being so slow with just the bandages, how could he help Flynn at that rhythm?

Yuri growled.

"What do you want to do?" he seethed through his teeth in distrust.

Even if he knew that the blonde killer was working under Liszt and that the brown haired pianist would never want Flynn dead – far from it – Yuri could not help but be anxious the other might do something to hurt the pianist more. He could not trust that smug expression he saw earlier on that hateful face. Yet, Devereaux's features turned even more grave and serious.

"Look, it's certainly not the time to be hesitant," the once officer berated as he opened his small mallet, revealing its content: surgical instruments of various sorts.

The writer frowned deeply, wondering why a murderer carried such tools with him. Devereaux merely shrugged.

"I couldn't possibly go to the hospital when I received bullets on jobs. I had to learn," he merely stated evasively. "Now, lay him flat on the floor and hold him still. It's going to hurt him like a bitch[4]."

Even if reluctantly, Yuri did as instructed and, as he lay Flynn down, saw that the latter had closed his eyes and his breathing was labored. He almost seemed unconscious. The long haired man guiltily pinned the pianist's arms on the floor, putting his full weight on them to make sure he would not move, or that if he did, not enough to ruin the assassin's work. Yuri just hoped that the musician indeed was unconscious. It would save him tremendous pain.

The writer watched Devereaux sit on Flynn's legs to maximise the stillness, before unbuttoning the latter's shirt. He then grabbed a scalpel to incise the skin enough to give him space to retrieve get the bullet. He disinfected his instrument[5], then quickly got to work as he had no time to lose anymore. Too much blood had already been lost. At first, the blue-eyed man only hissed in pain, his face contorting uncomfortably. It was obvious he wanted to move in order to get away from such discomfort, but was unable to, which made him whimper as he twisted his head from left to right. Yuri bit down on his lower lip as he observed his friend, but knew that it was in the latter's best interest if he did not move.

When the assassin grabbed clips, however, it all went downhill. The moment the tool came in contact with the wounded's flesh, the effect was immediate. Flynn's eyes snapped open and he yelled at the top of his lungs while trashing violently to get away from the hurting instrument. It was becoming harder and harder for the other two to hold him still as he continued to struggle with sudden strength. Tears were streaking down his face as he begged to be released. It hurt Yuri to hear it as he closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut himself from the pleading as he made sure not to let go. He knew that, because of the fever Flynn's sickness already caused, the pain the latter was experiencing must be a thousand times worse.

"Stop!" his voice shrilled their ears as the writer put more weight on the arms. "Stop, please!" he begged in a broken voice.

The blonde assassin cursed, almost making a false movement as he worked through the injured's wound. He stared up at Yuri and glared intently.

"Make yourself useful for once, Lowell! Stop him, or I'll end up hurting him more!"

The raven haired male gladly returned the glower before lowering his head to Flynn's twisted in agony. The former leaned down until his nose touched the other's burning forehead, onyxes boring into sapphires.

"Flynn, listen to me. You have to calm down. I know it hurts, but you can't move. Try not to think about it."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Yuri admonished himself. How could he even say that to a sick man? This was stupid; he never had been good with words when it came to speaking them out. He was a man of action! And surely enough, it far from stopped the pianist to scream and whimper under the torture, badly needing to get away from the suffering.

Devereaux snorted on the other side as he kept his gaze intently on his work below.

"Come on, you can do better than that! Knock him down if you need to!" he exclaimed, to which the long haired man scowled.

There was no way he was knocking Flynn down, not when he could have a say in it. He would find a better way, and an idea already was forming in his mind. Without thinking too much over it, he moved his head just a little upward and captured the musician's lips with his own in a very sweet and distracting kiss. It took a little while, but soon, the blue-eyed man relaxed slightly, concentrating on the soft sensation of the other's mouth. Yuri made sure not to let go until a few minutes later in order to give a much needed diversion, feeling the muscles of the other's arms go slightly limp. When the writer did pull away and looked back into the pianist's eyes, he saw that their delirious state of moments ago had slightly subsided for awareness.

"Yuri," he whispered in bewilderment.

His daze of distraction was torn off, however, when the man working over his wound finally managed to grab the bullet and pull it out with a cry of success. It echoed in synchrony with Flynn's agonising scream before his eyes closed and his head lolled to the side, having finally lost consciousness. It both worried and relieved the raven haired male, because he did not know if it was good, but the pianist would at least not feel the pain anymore.

The writer straightened up and watched Devereaux disinfecting the injury. He then grabbed a needle and thread, proceeding in stitching the wound. When it was done, he took out real bandages and wrapped them around the injured's stomach tightly, making sure they were secured and would not fall off.

"There, that should do the trick. Now bring him to the hospital. I'm not a professional, so it's best he's still seen by a doctor," the assassin concluded as he put away his material.

Yuri gazed at him suspiciously once again.

"Why aren't you taking me down right here and now? Nothing stops you from getting him to the hospital yourself. So why are you sparing me?" he asked as he buttoned his friend's shirt.

The former officer smirked at him wickedly, his fingers playing with the gun now secured at his waist.

"T'would be boring. Too easy. Besides, I'm a little hunted by the police at the moment, so showing myself in public places might not be a good idea," he explained as he shrugged indifferently.

He rose from his spot, gathering his mallet as his cat-like grin stretched.

"See you later, Lowell. I doubt you will be so lucky next time."

Upon those words, he ran off to the stairs, disappearing from where he had arrived. Yuri barely took the time to watch him go as he gathered the musician on his back. It would permit him to move faster as he ran outside and searched for a cart that would bring him to the hospital.

_Flynn, you idiot! You better be alright!_

* * *

A macabre melody resonated through the walls of the vast music room plunged in darkness except for the soft light produced by the oil lamp above the piano. The pianist's fingers were moving with grace and ease, but were slightly fidgeted into a contained excitement not yet fulfilled. His head did not move up from the key-board when he heard steps coming his way, entering the room hesitantly. The newcomer tensed as he truly came to realise who the musician was and he clenched his fists in unease.

"You? How did you come in?" he accused in a shaky voice, moving a step backward.

The pianist's lips were stretched widely as he enjoyed a particular movement of the song he was playing.

"I have many ways to come into someone's home, Leonard."

His voice was as sweet as poison, and barely louder than a whisper. Shivers of fright ran down Lefevre's spine and cold sweat formed on his forehead. He wondered if he should leave, but as the thought crossed his mind, the door behind him slammed and locked, leaving him alone with the musician still playing.

"Do you like this song, Leonard? I find it... alluring, but mostly befitting, don't you think?"

The duke gulped down nervously, knowing very well the meaning behind the other's words, but still chose to remain silent. The musician was playing a funeral march; he was talking about _Leonard's_ funerals.

"Oh, has the cat got your tongue, Leonard? Or is it that you have lost your manners? I would not be surprised," Liszt's voice was becoming dangerous, but never once yet did his eyes land on the noble further away. "You know, my dear Chopino was the one to compose such a marvellous work of art. I believe it should be played with elegance and grace, just as he would play it. I still added my own macabre feeling to it. I think it suits it. Most of all, however, this music should be played with the upmost care. Do you know why, Leonard?"

When silence answered the question, Liszt's face twisted ever so slightly, a scowl forming on his features.

"It's because _he_ should be treated as such, _with care!_"

His murmuring tone became a yell as his hands both smashed the keys under them, drawing their sound in a cacophony. Then, for the first time, he turned his head towards the mansion's owner, a gleam of madness present in his irises.

"I do believe I stated that my precious Chopino should not be _involved_ in this matter, have I not? And what do I learn? Not only have you worsened his illness by using him as bait, you also almost _killed him_ by shooting at him! If it wasn't for my hired man, he would be _dead_ at this hour!"

Liszt's tone was dripping with hatred and fury as he took one step at a time towards Lefevre, who backed away as well, only to be met by the wall. Before he could escape, however, the pianist was suddenly upon him. The latter shot his hand up and grasped the noble's neck, clenching it tightly.

"I-it wasn't my intention to aim at him," the duke explained vainly in a choked voice, his hands weakly grabbing the other's arm in a failed attempt to make him go.

His words had the opposite effect: the hold tightened on his neck.

"You still involved him. It's all your fault," the musician whispered in venomous honey. "I do believe you wish to experience my wrath, and so I will grant you your wish."

Liszt finally let go and the noble crumpled to the floor, choking as he tried to regain his breath. However, as he gazed up at the pianist, his eyes widened in terror and he panicked greatly.

"No, no, stop! _Stop_ – _uwaaaaargh!_"

His screams and yells filled with agony and horror resounded relentlessly in the room until they died down for good. Liszt boringly stared down at the corpse now unmoving on the ground as he put on his gloves on his hands and walked to grab his walking stick. He then marched out of the room, his twisted and wicked grin fully stretching his thin lips.

Yuri Lowell was next.

* * *

[1]Presents were actually exchanged at New Year instead of Christmas in the 1800s.

[2]The ones who've played Eternal Sonata will recognize that stick X3

[3]Hospitals were not really safe because of all the bacteria traveling around, so people usually went there as a last resort. But that would not help my story, so you'll see that I tweaked it a little bit. Which means, yeah, anachronism. At least, I did my research xD

[4] Anaesthetics were not discovered at that time, so yeah... kinda painful. And so you'll understand here that I made a huge mistake in chapter one that Celice Calphy so nicely pointed out to me: I used anaesthetics back then. I should've made my researches earlier xD I'll try and modify chapter one soon, but knowing me, I might forget... Anyways, the point is, they don't exist yet xD

[5]Okay, so disinfectants were not discovered either (1847), but since not having them would obviously mean Flynn dying of infection (who could survive it, with a wound like that o.o), I decided to tweak this part of history as well and made another anachronism. Besides, it's my universe, right? So who cares :D

* * *

**A/N: **Here we go with chapter four! Finally! :D I hope you liked it, even though I fear that the first part with Yuri was slightly OOC and the last part was somewhat Deus Ex Machina (in English, that would mean a "Oh, how convenient!").

You've learned more about Listz's true nature. How do you like him so far? xD

And sorry if you think that this police arc ended so soon, but my fic isn't supposed to be really long (it won't go over ten chapters, that, I'm sure), so I had no choice but to make it short. Besides, that arc isn't the point of the story, so another reason as to why I wouldn't develop so much. Hope it was still to your taste anyway ;p

I think I've stated everything (I hate arriving to the author's note, because I always forget what I want to say at that point), so I'll stop ^w^

Take care!


	5. Fifth movement

**A/N: **Hey guys! I'm so sorry, I know it's been a long while since I've posted this. But I've been busy with midterms and finals with school before the holidays and, since it ended up being my turn for our collab back then when I got a little more time, I put my energy on that one. I've worked on Farewell since then. So again, I'm so sorry for being this late ^^" I haven't abandoned this, I swear.

I won't make you wait any longer than that, so I'll immediately go to the disclaimers.

**Disclaimers:** unfortunately, the characters (except mine) belong to Namco, otherwise, Flynn would offer his bouquet along with an engagement ring to Yuri in the PS3 version (that bouquet is his joke weapon).

By the way, this chapter is not betaed yet, but I'll swith it with the edited version when it's done ^^

Well, have fun reading and see you at the end!

* * *

**Fifth movement**

Rays of sunshine were seeping through the closed curtains of a small room smelling of perspiration, blood and diseases lurking from the hallway behind despite the closed door. It was a repulsive smell, but faint enough to forget it after a while if one stayed too long. It was the case of the lone awakened form, sitting on a chair next to a blonde man lying in the bed, unconscious since who knew how long. Yuri stared at the hand he was holding tightly without really seeing it, hair slightly dishevelled and covering his face. He was too tired and out of it, however, to be bothered by it and slip it back behind his ears. He merely was there, waiting for Flynn to finally wake up as worry gnawed at his insides.

It had been three days. Three whole days and his friend still had not woken up! The long haired man was lucky that he could stay by the blonde's side – not that he gave the doctors and nurses any choices. The last time they tried to shoo him away, he glared at them menacingly, ready to lash out at anyone who would dare take him from Flynn's side. By that time, no one ever came to bother him again, valuing their safety.

In three days, Yuri did not sleep a wink, making sure to be awake whenever the pianist would finally open his eyes. The wait was becoming unbearable and the raven haired male wondered when he would finally be able to plunge his gaze into those beautiful azure orbs. Would he be able to again? No... no, he could not think that way. Flynn was going to make it! Still, the writer could not help that lingering fear at the possibility that Devereaux or the doctors did not do their job properly. It was maddening.

Of course, there was another reason the long haired man wanted his friend awake and about. Would they stay just that? Friends? Of course, Flynn admitted to Yuri that he loved the latter, but he was also delirious with fever at the time. Would he even remember that event? Was it just all a mistake?

There was also the horror that the writer could not shake away: what if the musician thought Yuri was Liszt at that moment? What if Flynn did not want him in the least? It pained him so much, his heart bleeding away by the mere thought. If in a rational state, he would surely have understood that this fear could not be possible, for it meant that, by Flynn's words, the latter was not in a relationship with Liszt just yet when the brown-haired pianist told Yuri otherwise. Besides, it was the long haired male's name that the pianist uttered when he was kissed. The former was just too tired and panicked at the moment to see all the possibilities and flaws in his anxieties.

A moan resonated in the room, but the writer did not budge from his position. Too many times he heard those already, and had since long stopped hoping they meant Flynn was stirring from his unconscious state. However, when the latter's head turned from side to side ever so slightly, his eyes slowly fluttering open, a gasp erupted from the dark haired male's lips as he straightened up, almost unable to believe his eyes. For a few moments, they remained quiet, Yuri revelling in the sapphire irises rather fogged with sleep and unawareness.

"Hey..." the words finally escaped the long haired man's lips as a light relieved smile adorned them.

One was given in return from the other party, also dulled by the drowsiness. At least, it was a sign of acknowledgement.

"How're you feeling?" Yuri asked gently, one of his hands leaving the one he was holding to move a few locks of blonde hair out of his friend's face.

The latter leaned into the touch, humming softly.

"I've seen better days," he admitted in a husky voice.

Immediately, the writer moved to the night table next to him, grabbing the pitcher and pouring water into an empty glass next to it. However, before he could help Flynn with drinking the refreshing liquid, fingers tenderly touched Yuri's forehead to brush away the dishevelled strands, making the latter start. He looked down to see the pianist still smiling, but worry was also mixed to it now.

"And it seems you've seen them as well," he declared.

The raven haired male easily detected reproach at the neglect he showed himself in the other's voice. It made the former smirk in both amusement and discouragement – the first light in his features in days. Trust Flynn to worry about others when he was clearly in a bad state himself.

"I'm a little tired, nothing to worry about," the writer dismissed with a wave of his hand, but the other's forehead only creased deeper.

He did not remove his hand either, the tip of his fingers still brushing Yuri's skin and hair, making the latter shiver in pleasure. It was a touch he did not want gone any time soon, yet he knew it was best if he made the pianist stop and keep his arm under the covers to keep all the strength he regained.

"Nothing to worry about? Have you seen yourself? I wouldn't be surprised to learn you have not slept in days!"

Damn that Flynn for being so perceptive! The raven haired male could only stare away in annoyance. He was not in the mood for arguing, especially not when his friend was in that state.

"Look, I'll go sleep soon, okay? I don't want to fight with you, not right now when I could snap at you for nothing and when you barely woke up from a fatal wound. It would be bad for you, and I don't want to do anything that goes against your recovery, all right?"

A sigh slipped from the blonde's lips before he nodded his assessment, pulling his arm away and turning his head towards the ceiling. Yuri used that moment to help his friend drink the water before putting the glass back in its place while, for a brief moment, the pianist closed his eyes in tiredness. At that, the writer wondered if the musician would go back to sleep already. It was to be expected, with how exhausted he must still be, but it still left the writer disappointed to have not gotten the chance to speak with Flynn more.

But then, the pianist looked back at the long haired man with a smile, his eyes twinkling with a light that was not present previously.

"You know, Yuri, I've had the most wonderful dream..." he trailed off and, suddenly, a knot formed itself in the writer's throat.

What would this dream be about? About Liszt? The dark haired man feared to question, but in the end, his mouth formed the words on its own.

"And what was it about?"

He cursed himself, his stomach now twisting painfully. He did not want to hear this; he did not want his hopes to be shattered. It was painful enough to just think it; it would break him down completely to learn that he was not the one loved.

But then, Yuri immediately admonished himself. What made him think that the musician's dream was even about that? That was a bit pretentious to think that the other would necessarily get back to that fateful evening. A dream could be about _anything_. He definitely needed to get a grip already.

But still, if it had been a wonderful dream, chances were higher that it involved Liszt... or Yuri, depending on the real state of things.

Fingers lightly touching his cheek startled him out of his thoughts and he saw a loving smile sent his way as the side of his face was cupped gently.

"Or at least, it feels like a dream, but I can only hope it really happened. You kissed me, didn't you, Yuri?"

Eyes widened and cheeks reddened violently as a heart picked up its pace and beat madly into pink ears. The long haired man opened and closed his mouth, just like a fish, unable to let a single word out of his throat. He hated feeling like this, and yet he could not help that burst of happiness that stopped him from functioning normally. But he should not let it go to his head, not just yet. He needed confirmation, needed to know that he was truly loved in return before getting his hopes too high.

"I did..." he admitted, not able to look in his friend's eyes just yet. "Aren't you mad?" he finally asked the fateful question.

Flynn was supposed to love Liszt. He was supposed to be furious that Yuri kissed him. However, everything occurring was going against that very fact and the writer was so very confused. He needed the pianist to clarify everything at this moment.

The blonde's soft expression turned to disbelief at the question.

"Mad? Why would I be mad? Yuri, you kissing me made me so very happy, you can scarcely imagine it. I hoped so very much that you returned the feelings I had for you, and now I'm incredibly joyful to know that you do!"

This should have been enough. The very statement should have quelled the raven haired male's worries. But it did not. He was still confused and he still could not gaze back into those beautiful sapphire orbs he loved so much. Flynn frowned with concern, his hand not yet leaving his friend's cheek.

"Yuri, look at me. What's wrong? Why are you acting like this? Did I understand wrong? Do you not..."

The hurt and sorrow suddenly present in the musician's voice had Yuri snap from his daze and he immediately turned to the injured man, shaking his head vehemently.

"No, no of course not! You understood the right thing!" he promptly denied the other's sudden anxiety, before pursing his lips into a thin line. "I... I'm just confused. So very much. I thought... I thought for sure that you loved Liszt."

That was it. He said the words. It was about the time where Flynn would tell him that it had all been a joke and the brown haired pianist was actually his lover. Yuri braced himself...

... he did not expect the blonde to burst out in laughter.

Dumbfounded, the long haired man watched as the pianist held his stomach to laugh hard, but soon winced in horrible pain and alternated between incontrollable laughter and yelps of hurt. He managed to regain control in the end, but he was now out of breath and grimacing while holding his stomach where the wound was. During that time, Yuri regained his senses and sat on the bed, unsure of what to do exactly as he watched the other helplessly, wanting to sooth the pain and make it go away.

"Stupid Yuri," Flynn half-teased as he panted in shallow puffs. "Making me laugh like that when it's obviously going to hurt me..." he trailed off, mockingly glaring at his friend who only pouted annoyingly.

He hated to be made fun off, even more when he was being serious.

"Flynn, it's really not funny," he whined, crossing his arms on his chest.

The blonde sighed before reaching for Yuri's neck with both arms, pulling the latter down against him in a warm embrace, earning a gasp from the long haired man.

"I know, I'm sorry. But Yuri, I don't understand exactly what could have made you think such a thing, but it's far from being the truth. I never loved Franz in such a way, I swear."

At those very words, all the worry, the anxiety, the fear, the pain and the sadness left Yuri as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He snuggled closer to the musician, his heart warming with bliss as he revelled in the words.

"I love _you_, Yuri."

Lips brushed the writer's forehead in a fleeting caress, making shivers of pleasure run down his spine. However, he wanted more than that, and so he raised his head just a little, claiming the pianist's lips in a very sweet kiss, cupping the other's face as he did so.

When they parted, however, Yuri buried his head into Flynn's neck, not wanting the latter to see how flushed he became with a mere kiss. This made the blonde chuckle at the cuteness, although he soon regained his seriousness.

"Tell me, Yuri... What is it that made you think I could love Franz?" he inquired, his fingers now running through the long and silky dark strands.

"Remember the time when I was furious at you after Estelle's birthday?" the raven haired male started, not seeing the disapproving frown as he had not moved from his spot.

"Princess Estellise," Flynn corrected, unpleased.

It certainly did not faze Yuri.

"Whatever, that's not important. There was a day when you left that Liszt came at home. Actually, I was gone to Karol's during the time he arrived, so I was shocked to see him inside. He told me he had a key to your home, and when I asked him why, he told me that you two had a thing going on."

The writer's tone was bitter as he recalled that particular afternoon he just wished to forget. That was when all the suffering started, because he had been sure that his love for Flynn would never be returned. However, Yuri could not deny that, if it was not for such an encounter, maybe he would never have realised what kind of feelings he held.

Silence answered him for a short moment, the dark haired man knowing that the other was thinking on the peculiar sentence.

"I think you might have misunderstood what he wanted to say. Maybe he was trying to tease you or something."

Of course, Flynn would certainly not think badly of his fellow pianist. However, Yuri knew better. Even though the blonde did not love Liszt, it was clear that the latter held particularly deep feelings for the former. Flynn was just too blind.

"I indeed gave him a key, but that's only because he always comes to give me sheet music, or work from editors and nobles. I had no choice but to give him a key because whenever he would come before, he would not leave until I arrived if I was not at home. I didn't want to make him wait outside when he went to the trouble of getting me all those things."

So that was the real reason. It was even more of a relief to know everything.

"Thanks Flynn."

A light squeeze answered him and Yuri smiled. He still could barely believe that Flynn was now his lover. Surely they could use that title now, considering their feelings were shared. Yes, they definitely could and the writer would not hesitate to use it.

The blonde shifted and suddenly hissed in pain, making the long haired man pull away to gaze at the pianist with worry. The latter looked even more exhausted than when he first woke up, dark rings hollowing under his eyes. The writer brushed away a few blonde locks out of his lover's face, leaning down to place a quick kiss on the latter's lips.

"You should try to sleep now. You must be exhausted with all that talking. I'll go get someone, you just rest."

As he was about to stand up, he felt a tug on his wrist. Curious, Yuri looked down and saw an expression as severe as possible despite the fatigue incrusted in the musician's features.

"Promise me you'll sleep," he ordered, leaving no place for arguments.

A small amused and discouraged smile appeared on the other's lips who nodded in defeat.

"Yeah, I promise, don't worry. Now just go back to sleep already."

Yes, Yuri would get a little shut-eye soon, but he never said where. Because there was no way he was leaving this room more than five minutes. He would sleep on the bed's corner. It would be uncomfortable and, if Flynn realised, the long haired man would not hear the end of it. But it was worth it if it meant that his love did not stay alone in this horrible place.

Satisfied, the pianist nodded and closed his eyes while the writer left the room to get a doctor.

* * *

"___—__—__—_, that was amazing!" 

_A blonde young man turned around to the sound of the voice and suddenly saw a form rushing towards him at full speed. It managed to stop mere inches away from the blonde, but not before slapping him strongly against the back, making him stagger and almost lose his balance. He also immediately choked, coughing loudly for a brief moment. _

_When he regained control, the blonde glared at the now grinning long haired man._

_ "Damn it, __—__—_, that hurt!" the former cried out with outrage as he straightened up, dusting imaginary folds on his perfectly adjusted coat. 

_He soon calmed down with a sigh, however, when he saw the dejected and apologetic pout on his friend's features. How could he stay mad at that? That was clearly an unfair tactic!_

"_Sorry... but I was just so excited! I mean, that concert was amazing! Do you know how much people it attracted?" _

_A grimace on the blonde's face told that he did not want to be reminded such a fact, but the other ignored it. _

_"Everything was perfect! The way you played was melodious and dramatic, but also delicate; I could totally hear _you_! It was the first time you were doing a concert of pieces you wrote completely by yourself, and you definitely played much, much better than your usual talented playing!" the long haired man exclaimed with thrill, obviously more delighted by the event then the other would ever be._

_ The latter chuckled amusingly, shaking his head. _

"_Stop praising me so much, you'll embarrass me," he replied and shook his head when he saw that his friend was about to refute his statement. "Tonight was far from perfect. I'm pretty sure I could have done better. I've made too much mistakes... Maybe not in the keys themselves, but in the tempos and rhythms, for example," the pianist added as he saw the disbelieving expression on his friend's face. "And all this stress... it was nerve-wracking! My fingers tangled together, I swear. I would rather not play at all at any concerts, it would be far better on my mind. You cannot imagine what a torture the three days before a public appearance are to me[__1]__!"_

_The short haired man sat on a chair not too far behind, taking the time to breathe. He had the impression that was not something he was able to do, lately, and he was just glad that everything was finally over. Now he would just need a good night's sleep and he should be fine for the days to come. Little did he know that this particular plan would soon be foiled._

"_Stop being so hard on yourself!" the dark haired man berated with a serious expression. "You played incredibly well. The applause you received out there were not half-hearted. People loved what you played and I'm sure they would be glad to come listen to you again," he attempted to make the other see how good the concert went. _

_A bitter smile stretched the blonde's lips. _

"_Frankly, I'd rather not. Besides, they only liked it because I'm from this country. It's a feeling of belonging, that's all. I seriously could work a lot more on my playi – youch!" he screamed, hands now on his head to rub the spot where he was just hit by his furious looking friend. _

"_I said stop being so hard with yourself and stop complaining! You are way more than talented, so start entering it in that thick skull of yours!" the latter cried out with annoyance, not apologizing in the least for knocking the musician. _

_He watched the short haired man avoid the former's gaze stubbornly for a minute, before the dark haired male sighed and eased up a little._

_ "Come on, I was here to praise you. Be happy a little, at least." _

_The stubborn and unhappy eyes softened into guilt._

_ "I'm sorry. You're right, __—__—_. Thanks." 

_The musician pulled himself together. He should not be complaining when his friend came to this concert especially for him. _

"_That's more like it!" the long haired man grinned, a hand reaching for his hip, the other now extended towards the other. "Now come on! We need to go soon if we want to enjoy most of our evening!" he suddenly exclaimed, and the other stared at him with confusion. _

_A light furrow of brows thus answered the statement, making the one standing heave a sigh of discouragement and slight annoyance. He then proceeded in capturing the pianist's hand and forced the latter up. _

_"I said come on!" _

_The short haired man was forced to follow, almost tripping at the rather strong pull on his arm as he lightly tried to resist from following. _

_"W-wait, __—__—_!" he called out in protest, looking back at the room they were leaving. "Where are we going? What's going on? At least tell me before dragging me!" 

_A smirk was his answer for a brief moment, which was enough to irritate him. _

_"__—__—_!"

"_Relax already! Sheesh, you're so uptight all the time!" the dark haired man complained with a roll of his eyes, but never came to a halt to explain. _

_On their way to wherever it was they were going, roaming through the hallways of the backstage, they suddenly met up with four people walking towards the room the first two barely left. Out of the four, there was only one man, but judging from his appearance, it was not hard to tell that it was the short haired man's father. The three women following were all brown haired, but some traits were recognizable in the pianist the raven haired male still dragged along. _

_The quartet watched in disbelief as their family member was taken away, obviously without the latter's consent. It was not hard to understand with the irked expression plastered on his face and the almost pleading look that demanded help to the four people standing there._

_ "__—__—_, what are you doing with _—__—__—_?" the musician's older sister demanded, hands on her hips as she attempted to place herself in the long haired man's way, but the latter easily dodged her with a grin. 

"_Sorry, I'm borrowing him for a while. I'll return him before tomorrow, promise!" _

_Well, it seemed that was a desperate and lost cause, especially when the pianist's kidnapper started running, leading the former in his race, ignoring the shouts of protest fading behind. As they ran, they made their way to the main hall where a crowd already gathered to exit. Without even thinking about it, the long haired man dragged his friend through the mass of people, barely apologizing as he went past people and bumped into them, the other taking on the task whenever they heard a cry of complaint. They also went too fast for anyone to really recognize the famous man bumping into them._

_The pianist heard his friend laughing madly as they walked through the crowd, and the former could not help but find the amusement contagious. Really, he could have freed himself anytime before if he truly wanted. But the effect of surprise and seeing the other having such a blast was more than enough to keep his hand entangled in the other's. Besides, even if he would never admit it out loud, he just loved holding hands like this. It was his little secret._

_They finally managed to get outside, breathing in the fresh scent of the night, taking in the sight of the starry sky. It was indeed a beautiful night, without a single cloud. However, the musician did not have time to revel in it as he was guided away, still at a fast pace. The other had not stopped laughing at all and, soon, the short haired man joined him fully, following without any resistance anymore. It felt so good to be that carefree. _

_Influence from the other man, he guessed._

_At some point, their pace slowed and they ended up walking again, side by side, in a comfortable silence. They rarely needed to talk anymore to know what the other was thinking. They were so used to spend time together, they knew each other by heart, even if the long haired man only came during summer in their childhood. However, in the last few years, he stayed in Poland far longer, making sure to spend as much time with his friend as possible during his free time. _

"___—__—_, will you finally tell me where you're taking me?" the musician asked once more, though not really expecting a precise answer.

_ He was definitely right. _

"_We're going to celebrate your concert, of course! You'll see where when we arrive!" _

_This time, the short haired man did not ask for more precision. Hearing the joyful tone in the other's voice was enough to please him and he knew it was his friend's fun to surprise him._

_As they travelled, the pianist soon recognized the streets they walked unto and the houses they passed by. With a frown of wonder, he turned to the dark haired male. _

_"Isn't that the way to your home? Is that where we're going?" he asked, perplexed as to why his friend would want hide him such a fact and, frankly, also disappointed. _

_It was pretentious to think, but he had come to expect someplace a bit more... special. _

"_For now, yeah, but that's only because I need to go grab something. That's not really the place I want to take you. Besides, it would be kinda boring if I wanted to bring you home," the long haired man voiced and quelled the other's worries, making the latter smile softly. _

_That was so much like the raven haired male. _

_When they arrived to their first destination, the scheming man asked the other to stay outside for the time he went to fetch the item. The short haired male obliged without a word, waiting patiently until his friend came back with a relatively big basket containing who knew what. It also looked heavy, and so the pianist immediately offered his help, but it was vehemently refused with a smile that told he did not need to do a single thing. It left the musician feeling helpless, but he followed with a sigh nonetheless as the other started to walk again. _

"_What's in the basket, __—__—_?" he asked with curiosity, trying to peer inside. 

_The other chuckled, moving his package away so that the short haired man would not see. _

"_You'll see soon. Just wait until we arrive." _

_However, the loaded man did not expect the kicked puppy expression to be used on him at this very moment and he started, gazing away immediately, trying to resist such a look. It was obvious he did his best not to crack, but the other knew better: it was just a matter of more convincing and he should win._

"_Please, __—__—_, I'd really like to know," he insisted, almost with a whine.

_ The rather heavy sigh that followed told him he won and he grinned victoriously while the raven haired male still did not look at him. _

"_Well, you must be starved after that concert," the dark haired male stated, stubbornly keeping his gaze away out of embarrassment._

_ And now that it was mentioned, the pianist could hear his stomach growling loudly, requesting nutriments. He had not noticed before how the nervousness that wracked his entire body ate away his energy and left him famished beyond belief. Concerts were truly such a drag... but if it meant his friend preparing him a meal for his efforts, then maybe he could not mind them that much._

"_You prepared a picnic for me?" he asked with awe and joy. _

_The other's cooking was definitely the best: always so delicious, the taste addicting. It was the best treat he could receive after such a rough evening. _

_The long haired man kept quiet, not wanting to reveal anything more as they continued to walk towards their destination. The musician chuckled, wanting badly to tease his friend. _

_"So... you cooked just for me, right? How cute!" he exclaimed with a grin, knowing it would tick the other off. _

_The raven haired male flushed immediately, straightening up as he became rigid. He then turned his head towards the short haired man, shooting him a murderous glare._

"_It's only because I made too much today and I was stuck with leftovers. Don't think yourself so high and mighty that I would prepare meals just for you!" the long haired man replied instantly with irritation, making the pianist laugh even more. _

_A 'right, right...' escaped the latter's lips, earning himself an even more venomous stare. The former kept silent for a short moment before charging again. _

"_But you know, however we may look at it, it's definitely going to be a picnic under the stars. Didn't know you had such a romantic soul, __—__—_." 

_A particularly strong fist collided with his arm as he laughed, loving the outrage displayed on his friend's contorted features. _

"_That's it! You obviously don't want to eat tonight!" the raven haired male hissed, walking faster._

_ The musician rolled his eyes and followed as well, still grinning goofily. _

"_Aw, come on, don't be like that!" he whined, but the other merely scoffed, ignoring the former. _

_It seemed he would need a lot more convincing to be able to eat when they would arrive to wherever it was they were going. _

* * *

"___—__—_, that was delicious!" the pianist exclaimed, savouring his dessert's last bite: a chocolate cake so chewy and melting into the mouth, it could only give him the impression of being in heaven. 

_He was generally not one for sweets, but the other's treats were definitely an exception. _

_The long haired man grinned, obviously pleased by the boasting. _

_"Glad you liked it then!" he replied proudly, gulping down his second piece of cake. _

_When they were both done with eating, they put away everything back in the basket before both plopped down on the cover they were sitting on since they arrived, gazing at the endless vast of shimmering stars above. In the end, the long haired man had brought his friend to the park where they used to play into when they were kids. The place was usually calm with not much people around, making it the perfect spot to play at anything they wanted without being bothered by anyone else. And since right at this moment, it was night, not a single soul was around except for the two of them._

_They lay there for a long while, none of them saying a thing as to not shatter the perfect stillness that felt so peaceful. The pianist was the first to break the silence, suddenly remembering something. _

_"I'll be going to see the Wodzinskas' daughter tomorrow," he declared softly, waiting for his friend's reaction. _

_Marie Wodzinska was the daughter of his family's friends, though he had not seen her much compared to her brothers. However, a few weeks prior, the pianist's mother came to him with the clear intent that she wanted the two to meet. She also never hid the fact that she wanted her son to consider getting to know each other better for future prospects such as getting engaged. Apparently, he was getting old enough to marry, and it would not be really well looked upon if he did not meet a very nice young lady soon in order to get engaged. That was why his mother arranged the meeting with Marie, singing praises about her many abilities at being a housewife. _

_Needless to say that the musician was not very interested, but he accepted only to make her happy. He never promised anything about the marrying part. He was not to choose someone he did not love after all and, besides, he already loved someone else, even if it was impossible and one-sided. _

_He would have labelled this event as ordinary, if it was not for the fact that the long haired man had been with him at that time, hearing the whole conversation. When it was done and the pianist accepted, the latter was shocked to see his friend abruptly stand up from the chair he was sitting in, an annoyed expression distinct on his features, and left after muttering a pretext that he had something he forgot to do. It left the short haired man perplexed as to what happened with the other, but also hoping just a little more that maybe, just maybe, his wishes could someday be granted. He never did confront the raven haired male about it again, however. Now was the time._

_Silence met his statement for a moment, and the musician feared that he would receive nothing, but then the other turned his head towards him, an indecipherable expression on his face. _

_"Do you... really have to?" _

_There was an edge of _something_ in the dark haired male's voice, but the other could not put his finger on it. Besides, he was distracted by his heart suddenly picking up its pace, submerging him with feelings that remained hidden for his own good. He could hear less and less that little voice nagging him to stop wishing for something that was impossible from the start. _

_What was that kind of response? It sounded as though the long haired man did not want the other to go. But why? What was it to him? _

_"Well, I promised my mother after all. Besides, it would be very rude not to show up," he answered in a low voice. "Why are you asking me this?" _

_Hope was seeping through his veins. The more he pondered over it, the more he believed that his friend was _jealous_. Why else would he act this way? But the pianist berated himself immediately. That was stupid. Surely it was his heart interpreting the other's words and expression. Surely the raven haired male had another logical explanation. _

"_Will you... end up with her?" _

_The musician frowned, even more confused. Where was it that his friend wanted to get at? He needed to know!_

_"I don't know. Maybe, maybe not? I guess it would depend on what she's like, how we get along. I don't remember much about her, so I can't really tell." _

_Okay, so that was not entirely the truth, because the musician did not really have any intention of going along with his mother's wishes. But he knew that giving such an answer would prompt the other to speak. _

_"Why? __—__—_, what's the matter?" 

_He far from expected the raven haired male to straddle him all of a sudden, leaning down so that his soft strands pooled on each of their sides and around them, cutting them from the rest of the world as though a curtain had been closed. It was only the two of them. _

_"Because I don't want you to!" the one above cried out with unexpected irritation, nose scrunched up, lips revealing teeth in a snarl. _

_The pianist's eyes widened like two saucers and his heart hammered violently in his chest as the colour on his cheeks only flamed further up. Could he truly have heard right? That was not possible... surely he was dreaming! There was no way that what he hid after so many years could actually be true! _

_But the dark locks tickling his cheeks in a delightful sensation, the warm hands pressed tightly on his chest for support, the deep onyxes boring into his own shocked gaze... it was too real! He could not be asleep, not with so many details proving the opposite. _

"_I don't want you to go to any women. I don't want you belonging to anyone else!" the long haired man kept up fiercely, irises burning vividly. "I don't want to see you with someone... someone other than..." his tone gradually lowered as his face took on an adorable shade of red. _

_It seemed that their current position and the words he was spurring out of the moment finally sank in, making him so very embarrassed. With a gentle and loving smile, the musician cupped his friend's face with both hands. _

"_Other than...?" he encouraged, tucking a strand behind the other's ear in a fleeting caress. _

_It startled his friend, who now blushed even brighter if possible. But then, he took his courage into hands and determination replaced the hesitancy. _

"_Other than me! You can't be with anyone else but me! I don't want to lose to any women who know nothing about you at all! I'm, by far, better than any of them!" he exclaimed, the light still burning so brightly in his eyes. "We've been best friends since forever; I know all about you! I know how the piano means the world to you; how you just need to pour out everything you can't say out loud to it. I know when you'll enter your frenzies the day before just by seeing the longing way you stare at your instrument. I know how you're uncomfortable with crowds, but still want to make everyone happy with the music you've put so much effort into. I know all of your favourite music, whether they're from others or yourself, just by watching the content expression you pull whenever your fingers run along the keys. I know _everything_. So you _can't_ choose anyone else but me!" _

_At first, shock was displayed on the short haired man's features as he listened to his friend's listing. But little by little, it was replaced by fondness, his chest warming pleasantly at the feeling growing inside. He could scarcely believe the things the other was saying, and yet they were all true. The pianist almost wanted to cry out of pure happiness. This could definitely be labeled as the best night of his life. _

"_I've never known you so romantic," he whispered sensually as he raised himself with his elbows on the ground, their faces now a couple of inches away. _

_The words and sudden proximity made the long haired man's face suddenly fire up before he turned his gaze away stubbornly. _

"_Don't expect to hear anything like that ever again from me! That was just to make sure you understood. I'm not ever saying things like that again. Being cheesy is your specialty, not mine!" the long haired man retorted in a spat, irritation written all over his features._

_ It only increased the short haired man's want to tease his friend. _

"_I think you did a marvellous job at being cheesy yourself. It would be such a waste to not use your newfound talent, don't you think?" _

_He laughed when he was slapped on the forehead, reveling in the expression the other pulled: the mix of a pout and pure annoyance. This was definitely the cutest, a face that the musician wanted to see over and over again. And before the other could move away, too irked to stay in their position and to grant the pianist any more proximity, the short haired man closed the distance left between them, claiming his friend's lips in a very sweet kiss. It shocked the raven haired male who went rigid for a brief second. However, it did not take long for him to finally react and respond with fervour and passion, his hands snaking up on the pianist's chest and sliding behind his shoulders and neck. _

_He parted his lips after a while, as an invitation, and the other took the opportunity. Sliding his tongue inside, their kiss heated with intensity. Their tongues twirled together, one trying to gain the upper hand on the other, all the while exploring spots unknown to them that tasted sweet from the cake they ate earlier. They only broke apart from lack of air, but it did not last long, the dark haired man lashing out at the other's lips a second time with even more passion and need. _

_They went at it for a good while before they truly needed to stop and take the time to regain their breath. As they pulled apart, both were grinning widely, too overjoyed by what they just discovered and by the turnout of events. _

_"Well, being yours doesn't seem like such a bad plan," the pianist stated with a laugh while the other rolled his eyes. T_

_hough it was clear from the latter's smile that he was amused as well. He muttered something under his breath, along the lines of 'idiot' that the musician could swear he heard. _

_"I'm _your_ idiot. Isn't that great?" he asked with a smirk before leaving a quick kiss on his now lover's lips. "I love you," he whispered with all the adoration he could muster. _

_The other's blush came back full force, and he averted his faze with embarrassment. However, what he said next was enough for the short haired man to die happy any time from now on. It was not something he would get to hear a lot, he knew, and so he vowed to remember this night forever._

"_I love you too, Flynn."_

* * *

Eyes slowly fluttered open and the irises behind the eyelids slowly took in their surroundings. Beige walls and ceiling met them in the darkness of the room, light barely seeping through the thick curtains covering the window. Everything was foreign, even the feeling of the mattress below. It was definitely not the bed he was used to, and this was clearly not his room. So where exactly was he? Oh...

The hospital. Right.

A sigh escaped his lips as he turned his head to the side. He instantly spotted his friend's lone form – no, lover – lying on the bed's corner. He was currently fast asleep, hair splayed everywhere around him on the mattress, arms under his right cheek while his face was towards the wall. But even if fast asleep, the other must have been really tired if he did not wake at the other's motions. Not that Flynn moved much since he woke himself, but by the way Yuri slept, he would have usually started awake by now.

The pianist heaved a heavy and discouraged sigh at the other's idiocy. Clearly the long haired man had not heeded the blonde's warnings. How could sleeping this way be any restful when he was in such an uncomfortable position? However, a tired smile also tugged on Flynn's lips, his hand reaching for a few locks near him, wanting to caress their softness and smoothness. This would definitely not be Yuri if he did not act so recklessly.

Images of his previous dream flooded back and the musician's smile became fond and sorrowed at the same time. If only they could go back to that time: when they used to be so carefree and without worries, when they just loved each other and did not have a single care for the world. But things had to turn out badly and... Well, that time was long gone by now and Flynn knew that it was for the best. Even if he would so dearly love to have the Yuri that knew everything about him back, it was in his best interests to keep things as they were. The pianist was just too selfish and scared to let his lover get back his memories.

A gasp erupted from the long haired man's lips and his eyes suddenly snapped open, startling the musician. As the latter watched his lover more closely, he noticed how the other's gaze was foggy, as though he had not woken up entirely yet. With a light frown, Flynn reached for his lover's cheek, but the second he made contact, Yuri started violently and pulled away in shock, slapping the intruding hand. Blinking in stupefaction, anxiety only crawled further into the blonde's skin as he wondered what exactly could have made the writer so on edge.

"Yuri, calm down. What's wrong?" he inquired in a very soft voice, not wanting to stress the writer more than he already was.

The latter finally seemed to realise who exactly was with him and he relaxed, sighing as he ran a hand through his long strands, combing them behind his head.

"It... it's nothing. Just a dream. It startled me. Sorry," he explained in a mutter, now avoiding the blue eyes searching for his onyxes.

Flynn tilted his head, somehow not entirely convinced, as though it was an excuse. But Yuri had been sleeping, so it really was the only logical explanation.

"Would you like to talk about it?" the blonde offered out of concern, not wanting his love to feel bad because of a nightmare.

Wanting to be in a listening position, he slowly attempted to sit up, hissing and wincing in pain as he did. Seeing this, the writer helped him up, all the while his grey irises on the pianist, holding hesitation and something else that could not be deciphered while he pursed his lips. But then, when the blonde was finally in a sitting position, the other shook his head and the ghost of his characteristic smile graced his lips.

"No, that's all right. Just a nightmare, I can manage."

Yuri knew very well that the musician could not be satisfied with such an answer, so to say that he was surprised when the other let it go with a simple nod was an understatement. Despite that, the raven haired male would not complain.

He did not want to talk about the dream he just had... or rather, the memory. For the first time in a year, a vividly clear memory presented itself to him and he could almost remember each detail with accuracy, something that had been impossible the two previous times. What he learned, however, left him bitter and somewhat vulnerable. He could not believe that Flynn and he were once lovers and that the former never once mentioned it.

What could this mean, exactly? That the pianist did not really want him anymore? Because why else would he keep that sort of information to himself, above everything else that he hid from Yuri? Vivid pain flared in the writer's chest. This was incredibly unfair; when he believed that everything would be fine now that his feelings were shared, he found that it might all be a set-up.

It left the raven haired male unknowing as to what to do. Because he knew he would need to confront Flynn about it and that it might not get pretty as he did. However, in the state the pianist was in, it would a very cruel thing to do. Yuri had already given enough mental strain to the blonde with their earlier talk; there was no need to tire him more. He would just need to wait until his lover was discharged from the hospital.

A knock on the door had them turn to the source of the sound, wondering who could be coming since usually, doctors and nurses entered immediately after knocking.

"Come in!" the musician called out.

The person who slid inside the room was the last person the writer wanted to see.

Liszt stepped inside, worry settled on his features as his brown eyes landed on the form lying on the bed. Ignoring the glare thrown his way by Yuri – or rather, ignoring the dark haired male entirely – he immediately ran to the other side of the bed, sitting on the mattress and hovering over the blonde, much to the writer's frustration. The latter, arms now crossed on his chest, sat back on the chair behind him with hate coming out of him in vibes.

"Oh, Chopino, I'm so glad you're all right!" the brown haired musician exclaimed, his voice filled with agitated tremolos that only irked the writer on the other side.

The latter gritted his teeth, biting back a snarl when Liszt actually dared to hug _his_ Flynn.

"When I learned that you were shot, I was so scared that you might not make it! Thank goodness, you are safe!"

The blonde chuckled, not even trying to pry himself away from the sudden embrace. His laugh, however, became nervous when he noticed the brooding and threatening expression thrown towards the brunette.

"Stop worrying, Franz, I'm fine," Flynn reassured with a gentle smile, finally removing himself when he saw an opening in his assailant's arms. "Although news sure are travelling fast. I doubt Yuri told anything to anyone and since I've been out of it the whole time, I'm a little confused as to how you could have known," he added with surprise when his friend pulled away with disappointment.

The latter smiled nervously, his hands smoothing folds on his clothing.

"I'm a little confused as well," Yuri suddenly stated, arms crossed against his chest.

This was all too suspicious and he would very like to get to the bottom of this. A wrathful glance was sent his way, as though knives would cut him, but it was so quick that he only saw it, Flynn completely oblivious to the act.

"Well, you were not at home for three whole days, so I asked around. That was not really fructuous, but I remembered that you were invited to Duke Lefevre's to play the piano, and since that was the last information I had about you, I went to his mansion. I was met with police officers who told me they had not seen you in the massacre that took place at the manor, but I was still very concerned for your welfare, so I went to the hospital to make sure whether or not you were wounded or sick. The hospital staff told me you were here, and so that's how I learned about your stay," he explained with a frown on his forehead, deepening with every word.

Yuri only scoffed at the healthy pianist, rolling his eyes and his glare only growing acrimonious. The long haired man was certain that this was nothing but twisted truth; it was obvious Liszt would have learned everything through Devereaux, since he was obviously the latter's client. Who else would want Flynn intact and Yuri dead? No one else, just like the duke, would spare the blonde pianist a single thought.

The brown haired man sent another discreet and menacing look at the writer while Flynn threw the latter a confused look, not understanding his lover's reaction. Yuri gazed away at that moment, his mood frustrated all the same.

Deciding to ignore the long haired man completely, Liszt returned his sole attention on his fellow musician.

"What happened, Chopino? Why were you shot? Did it have anything to do with Duke Lefevre's death?"

Flynn had been ready to answer, but stopped dead in his track as he heard the second question, now staring round-eyed at his friend. Yuri was shocked as well, trying to understand what could have happened with Lefevre after they were gone. Because he was clearly alive when they were still in the mansion, having fled after being shot on the hand by Devereaux. Could the assassin have stayed behind and make sure that the man was killed? But that did not make any sense considering how the murderer specifically told that his client would want to take care of the noble personally.

The raven haired male eyed the man sitting in front of him suspiciously. Did it mean that Liszt himself got rid of the duke? Somehow, the writer did not find this idea impossible. It was just frustrating that he had not any proofs. And yet, all the clues led to that very man. If only the ones Yuri had were more explicit.

"Lefevre was killed? I... I had no idea..." Flynn stammered with shock, processing the information.

His hands above the cover were trembling on his lap.

"My wound was... an accident, not anything that had to do with the duke. But I can barely believe it..." the blonde trailed off and the writer wondered for a fleeting moment if his lover was sad about the news.

And maybe he was. Flynn always was one to strongly rely on justice, believing it was the best way to achieve anything good with the bad that occurred. Surely the fact that Lefevre was killed right after he was hurt by the noble left a bitter taste in his mouth.

The thought left the writer rather perplexed. He might have known Flynn for a year now, but that was far from being enough to know the pianist that well – mainly because the latter hid so many aspects of himself. And yet, here was Yuri, being one hundred percent sure of his previous reflection. This could only confirm the memory he recalled earlier: he once knew everything about his lover, being able to tell everything by heart.

"An accident?" Liszt repeated the blonde's words, his features darkening.

The injured pianist gave such an excuse so that the subject would be put aside, not wanting to be the object of inquiries, but it seemed that his comrade would not let it slide so easily.

"How could this have been an _accident_? Was the culprit arrested? Was _he_ with you when it happened?" the brunette continued, motioning to the dark haired male with a tilt of his head.

The concerned one snorted with mockery, for it was evident the middle haired pianist already knew Devereaux had escaped. However, the former's grey irises held deep annoyance and mistrust.

"Because if he was, he didn't do a proper job in protecting you," Liszt nagged with reproach, making the writer snarl.

Damn that man! He was making fun of Yuri, evidently informed on how powerless the long haired man had been while Flynn was bleeding away. As if it had been on purpose! It was not as if he chose for his lover to take the blow. That was another matter he needed to discuss with the blonde pianist. But for now, Yuri was certainly not about to be ridiculed without getting back at his opponent.

"Franz, it was not Yuri's fault. He was not supposed to protect me either," Flynn immediately denied with seriousness, earning him a doubtful look from the other pianist.

The writer badly wanted to retort that it was not the blonde's job either to protect him in such a way, but bit back the remark, saving it for later. Right now, he needed to take care of the hateful man sitting on the other side of the bed.

"What about you, Liszt? Somehow, the story you've told us earlier feels rather funny to hear. How could you even make the connection between Flynn's wound and the incident at the mansion since Flynn got it three days ago? Because I doubt you've seen the police officers three days ago; you're not the type to wait three days to come see him," the raven haired male pinpointed, arms crossed once again against his chest. "You also mentioned Flynn being shot. How exactly did you know that? None of us mentioned it to you before you did. Forgive me for saying, but somehow, I'm confused and I find it a tad suspicious."

A devilish smirk stretched the writer's lips once he saw the brown haired man panic. Oh, it was nothing too noticeable, but it was there: the slight fidgeting and straightening of his body, the pursing of his lips, the flash of fury and apprehension in the back of his gaze...

It all disappeared too quickly, however, replaced with accurate neutrality tinted with the scrunch of a nose in displease.

"Are you trying to accuse me of something, _George_?" he almost spat, but kept his tone in check.

It was not hard to understand how clean he wanted to stay in front of Flynn.

"I inquired about Chopino's state to the staff before arriving, of course. They told me he was shot, that's obviously why I knew," he explained. "And I indeed saw the police today. I did not say I made the connection at that time. I simply thought of the hospital at that moment. I didn't know if you were wounded or sick; all that mattered was to make sure if you were in here or not. It happened that you were, and since your stay is because of a gun wound, I wondered if it had anything to do with the massacre at Duke Lefevre's manor. That is all."

Yuri was vexed that the brunette got out of this so easily. However, he got what he wanted in the end: from Liszt's earlier reaction, it only solidified the dark haired male's hypothesis that the former was the real culprit behind the assassination plans. At least, that was a big step. Now, he needed to find a way to make Flynn stop seeing that dangerous and seriously deranged man.

He only humphed in reply, avoiding the confused glance the blonde sent him to answer the hateful glare the other musician threw at him full force.

By then, a silent agreement was settled between the two. They would not speak of how Flynn got to be wounded, but they would not continue on the subject of how suspicious Liszt was. The latter took the opportunity to return his sole attention on the blonde pianist, discussing on music matters that Yuri did not have to do with. The long haired man sighed discreetly, leaning back more comfortably against his chair.

He hoped that this hated man would leave as soon as possible.

* * *

"Ugh, I seriously need a bath!" Flynn complained loudly as he entered his house for the first time in two weeks, Yuri trailing not far behind.

Both his wound and sickness had forced him to stay at the hospital for that long, the second acting up after a few days the pianist had woken up, worrying everyone around him. But at least, he finally regained a normal health and was finally discharged and allowed to go home.

As the writer closed the door behind them, he smiled in both sympathy and amusement. He could understand where this was coming from: the only washing the blonde got to have was the nurses coming to clean him with moist cloths and a little soap. He was not allowed a real bath in all that time. It must truly be starting to get uncomfortable.

"Oh, so that was the lingering smell," the long haired man teased, grinning at the glare he immediately received.

"Well, I'm afraid you need one too."

Yuri halted and blinked as the smugness melted into surprise, soon turning into a pout, arms now folded on his chest. Flynn was already heading for the kitchen where he would start the fire, but the raven haired male quickly followed and stopped him with silent gestures. He did not want the pianist to strain his body with anything, in case it might reopen his wound.

"I'm not that bad," he retorted with slight irritation.

During the end of the first week, when he was certain that his lover would be fine for a few hours alone, he came back home to take a bath and get some rest[2.

"Have you looked in a mirror, lately?" the musician replied back with mirth.

Well, maybe Yuri had to take into account that he did not come back a single time during the second week, so it was bound to have played on his sleep and looks once more.

"Besides, we're heating up water, so why not take one anyway?" Flynn added, taking a seat at the table while waiting.

The writer straightened up and raised an eyebrow, looking back at the other while he went to fetch the bucket they used for heating up the water. He poured water into it, then placed it in the hearth where a warm fire was already crackling.

"We would need to heat water up two times. I don't think that's necessary," he pointed out, unable to understand where it was that the blonde was getting at.

The latter chuckled, shaking his head.

"Who said we need to heat two buckets? The bathtub is big enough."

The dark haired male frowned slightly at that statement. What was it that... Oh...

_Oh!_

A sleazy grin stretched the writer's lips as a hand flew to his hip. Flynn was asking that they bathe together. Well, this was interesting. He did not think that the blonde would be the type to be so bold. Or was he...?

"Oh? I didn't think you were so eager to have me!" Yuri teased with taunting present in his tone.

At the words, the pianist's face lit up brightly and he gazed away, clearing his throat, making the long haired man chuckle. However, at the same time, he felt a pang in his heart as he recalled the memory he dreamt two weeks prior. Was it real? Were Flynn and he really lovers once? If so, why was the musician acting as if this situation as lovers was new? It made no sense in the least. It left the raven haired male with the painful impression that the other was playing with him.

But each time he was about to ask, he always saw that loving expression thrown his way, that gentle smile and those sapphires holding nothing but affection. It left him speechless and doubtful, unable to say anything at all. Would speaking his mind break the blonde's heart? Would the latter even deign answer him? So many possibilities, so many doubts...

"I'm talking about a simple bath, Yuri, nothing more than that" the blonde finally managed to answer, still not looking at the other's face.

The writer pulled a face at that, disappointed he was denied the pleasure he was eager to get. Well, nothing stopped him from getting it once they were in the bath, right? He smirked as he decided to return to the water still heating up, knowing it would prevent the other from figuring out the long haired man was plotting something.

The water was ready within minutes and Yuri brought the bucket into the bathroom where he poured the liquid in the tub. Before Flynn accompanied him inside, he went to both their bedrooms, getting changes of clothes, then once he was inside the bathroom, closed the door behind him. He put the pile he was holding on the counter next to the sink, the writer watching him all the while. Upon noticing that he was stared at, the blonde smirked as he approached his lover, planting a sweet kiss on the other's lips.

"Don't tell me you're embarrassed?" he teased, to which the writer looked rather offended the pianist even dared think as such.

With a snort, he started removing pieces of his clothing that fell limply to the floor, ignoring the low chuckle coming from beside him.

"Don't mistake me for you!" he retorted with annoyance, his buttoned shirt and jacket already slipping on the floor.

When he glanced back at the other, he noticed the hungry and pleased look he was receiving, roaming on his now naked chest. A smug smirk played on the dark haired man's lips.

"I was just wondering if you'd look as handsome as I imagine once you'd remove that inconvenient shirt," the writer added.

The roaming was gone and the blonde's face resembled a tomato once more, making Yuri snigger.

However, it hid other, more unsettling thoughts that the long haired man did not want to think for now. Flashes of pale skin and of muscles not too strong, but not frail either, invaded his mind. Yuri wondered if they were Flynn's; if they were reality or fantasy. Once more, uneasiness grasped his heart and tightened it, making him wonder why his lover kept everything from him. Was he played? But the writer knew it was not the blonde's type. Far from it. And yet, he could not be sure anymore. Too many secrets were still kept between the two and that memory from two weeks back brought pain and doubt. What could he trust?

Soft fingertips reached for his side, slowly traveling and caressing his skin in an alluring gesture. Yuri could not help the hum of delight that escaped his lips and he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the painful squeeze in his chest. He loved Flynn. Was it not all that mattered?

"You're lovely."

The whisper in his ear sent violent shivers down his spine and he leaned closer to it. At the same time, he searched; searched for slips, for words that would give away the fact that Flynn and he were lovers from way back. But there were none. The pianist was always so very careful with his speech, making sure that nothing out of the ordinary ever came out.

Then Yuri would need to draw it out.

"I-I thought this was supposed to be a simple bath?" he cursed at the stammer caused by the pleasure, his body asking for more, leaning towards the mouth now against his neck, ravaging it. "Besides, aren't _you_ embarrassed?"

Questioning eyes now looked up at his own onyxes, making the writer shrug.

"I mean, you seem like the prude type. I'm surprised you even proposed taking a bath together, and that you don't seem to feel uneasy at all," he explained.

The blonde pulled away, taken aback by such words.

A small, slightly nervous smile, tugged at his lips as he proceeded in removing his own clothes.

"I... imagine being with you feels more comfortable than I would have believed."

A frown appeared on the other's forehead. That was not the answer he had come to expect.

"As for the simple bath, well, you're hard to resist. Besides, you can't really be complaining about this, right?"

Yuri raised an eyebrow, as if to say '_Do you really need me to answer that?_' And maybe he was about to, but he was soon distracted upon seeing the other's naked chest. For a moment, he did just as his lover did a few minutes back: he roamed his eyes on the pale skin, wishing to run his fingers on the smoothness calling out to him. Soon, however, his irises landed on the still pinkish scar left on the pianist's side. A sorrowful expression painted his features as his fingers gently brushed over the scar, not wanting to hurt his lover.

"Yuri?" Flynn called out softly.

"Why did you do that?" the dark haired male breathed, recalling the way he had been pushed away from the shot, and how crimson blood stained his lover's white shirt at a too rapid state.

He remembered the horror, the fright, the despair... He never wanted to experience that ever again.

"I did not want to lose you, of course," the pianist replied with seriousness, watching his lover carefully.

The latter pursed his lips and his gaze hardened as he looked back at the musician.

"And you complain to me that I do things alone after that?!" he cried out, barely stopping himself from calling the other a hypocrite. "You're such an idiot! I could've taken care of myself just fine! You weren't supposed to get involved! I wanted you out and safe, not hurt like that! Do you even realise how powerless I was? _I_ could've lost _you_!"

The more he spoke, the more his tone rose in pure anger. Yuri gradually hid his eyes with his dark bangs, not wanting his lover to see how he was fighting against the tears that were forming in the corner of his eyes. He would not cry; he was not that weak! But the bubbling feelings of anxiety, now on the verge of bursting, were leaving him quite shaken the more the words left his mouth.

An apologetic and calm smile graced the pianist's lips at the words thrown at him so harshly, yet with so much care laced with it. One of his hands carefully reached for his lover's ear, placing a few dark strands behind it, earning him a gasp of shock from the long haired man. Flynn's other hand slowly grabbed the one on his stomach and brought it to his mouth, pressing his lips on the open palm in a tender and loving kiss. The action troubled Yuri, who now stared at the pianist with shock and uncertainty in his widened eyes.

"I'm sorry," Flynn breathed earnestly, never giving up his compassionate smile. "I never meant for you to feel that way. I know this must have hurt you a lot and I apologize. I just... reacted without thinking. There was only one thing in my mind: I could not bear losing you," he confessed with sincerity and seriousness shining brightly in the deep pool of his eyes, making the writer's heart miss a beat.

The things that idiot said sometimes...! It was as if he used ointment to rub it gently on Yuri's heart, wanting to patch everything up.

"A-as long as you don't do it again," the latter blurted out in a mutter, trying to save the little dignity he felt he had left, his face completely bright red.

He was staring at the floor again, trying to hide his expression, but he knew it was no use from the other's very observing eyes.

Flynn chuckled, placing a chaste kiss on the top of his lover's head.

"Come now, hurry up, otherwise the water will turn cold," the pianist advised, already proceeding in removing his pants.

Yuri frowned slightly, knowing perfectly well that the other had changed the subject on purpose without first promising not to get hurt anymore. He wanted to protest, but was stopped dead as he saw the other's body now completely nude. It left him speechless as he took in how handsome his lover was. Despite the fact that the musician looked fragile because of his health condition, his pale skin looked very soft to the touch, his muscles rolled perfectly as he moved, and he should definitely not get started with the other's intimate parts. Flynn was the definition of perfect.

And the sight was so familiar that it bothered him greatly. The more the two of them interacted, the less he could believe they were lovers from only two weeks prior.

As the writer looked up, slowly snapping out of his trance, he realised that a tinge of red was now tinting the blonde's cheeks as the latter realised he was started at so hungrily. The latter rubbed the back of his head and laughed nervously.

"Maybe I am embarrassed, after all," he murmured loud enough for the both to hear.

The raven haired male blinked at the statement, before he burst out in laughter. That was definitely too cute! And that was exactly how Yuri imagined his lover to really be.

Now feeling calmer, the writer finished undressing while the musician slipped in the warm water with a sigh of content. While Flynn was occupied getting the soap that was further away, the long haired man entered the tub as well, well aware of the craving side glances he was receiving. With a pleased smile, Yuri sat down and leaned his back against his lover's chest. Once in place, he felt an arm wrap securely around his waist and he was pressed tighter against the other. A face was also buried in the crook of his neck, Flynn breathing in his scent. The writer closed his eyes, relaxing. This felt so good; he just wanted the pangs of hurt to stop. He would find out another time. For now, he would make himself comfortable.

He was surprised when two hands gently rubbed his shoulders with soap, starting to wash him. Those hands trailed down on his arms, going from fleeting brushes to warm rubs, then went back up before massaging his back. A moan escaped the long haired man's lips as he felt fingers now stroking his chest, then lowering on his stomach, sending shivers down his spine. Now entranced by such pleasuring touches, he barely picked up the chuckle behind him. He did, however, hear the sensual whisper in his ear.

"Still think that you would've been good?" Flynn's husky voice questioned, earning him another throaty moan.

It took a moment for Yuri to understand what it was his lover meant, and when he did, he shook his head. This was really too good. He could not believe the mere idea of passing this up had crossed his mind, even if he had not known at that moment that the pianist wanted the two of them to take their bath together.

At some point, the pianist removed his hands in order to wash himself. A whine of disappointment escaped the writer's lips, earning a chuckle from the other.

"I'm sorry. I have to wash myself as well, don't I?" he pointed out, but Yuri pouted nonetheless.

However, it was soon gone, replaced by a devilish expression. He shifted his position, now facing Flynn, and snatched away the soap from the musician. The latter started, staring at his empty hand, before turning his eyes to his sensually smirking lover.

"Then let me do it for you," the dark haired male breathed, his lips mere inches away from their luscious counterparts.

He then closed the distance left into a passionate kiss that was answered quickly, their tongues rolling together once Flynn granted the entrance his lover was seeking. While they devoured each other's mouth, Yuri distractingly rubbed the soap on the alluring and smooth skin he badly wanted to touch earlier. He ran his free hand on the blonde's neck first, lowering to his collarbone, then his chest, trailing down to his stomach while he rubbed the soap on the other's arms, back and sides.

Slowly, the fingers vagabonding freely went further down, approaching the sexiest part he could not wait to hold in order to hear pleasant sounds from his lover. He knew it was already half hard from sheer desire, Yuri's own shaft throbbing in need as well. Unfortunately, he was stopped in his track when his hand was caught and gently removed. Their kiss came to an end as well – mostly because they needed to breathe anyway – and Yuri watched with astonishment as Flynn shook his head with an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, Yuri, just not yet. I'd rather do it in a bed first, where we can both be comfortable while I make love to you," he admitted with a straight face and the other wondered how he did as he himself had to fight the blush that wanted to invade his cheeks.

Instead, an irritated pout first took over the writer's features, however it soon turned to a seductive smirk while he put the soap away and placed his hands on the blonde's chest, kneading the muscles.

"Are you sure you don't want it now?" he whispered sexily, knowing by the other's gulp that he was an irresistible and inciting factor.

He would win this no matter what!

He was shocked out of his mind when two strong hands gripped his shoulders and turned him around in his original position. Yuri stared round-eyed at the other end of the tub now facing him, lacking his entertainment. Vexed, he folded his arms against his chest and sulked, eyes narrowed dangerously even if his lover could not see him. This was so unfair!

An exasperated sigh escaped Flynn's lips.

"Come on, Yuri, try to understand a little! I'm not asking you to wait days, I'm asking you to wait until we're out! That's not much!"

The speech did not serve in calming the other's brooding, the latter not moving an inch. He was not one to wait. He wanted to explore the blonde now, to touch him and hear him moan. He knew this was childish, because he would get that after a couple of minutes, but he could not help it; not when he could still sense the hard shaft he almost grabbed earlier against his back.

Another sigh followed, before the writer felt water being poured at the top of his head all of a sudden, his hair absorbing some, but the rest flowing down his face. Spitting it out of his mouth, he was about ready to make a u-turn and demand what was the other's problem, when he felt two hands on his scalp, massaging gently with something that must be shampoo. With an unexpected purr that left his mouth, Yuri melted into a delighted pool. As he let himself drift to the calmness of the gesture, the fingers slowly running down his tresses, the writer sensed how it appeased his body as well as Flynn's because it occupied their minds on something else than the previous flaring desire they both felt.

His hair was washed with precision and care. The long haired man had closed his eyes under the treatment, shivers running down his spine every time a weak spot was rubbed or brushed. If it was not for the fact that a lingering unease kept nagging a corner of his mind, the writer knew he would have dozed off by now. But he simply could not because he wondered how exactly the pianist knew how to put pressure at the right locations or how to trail down his fingers in the other's strands to remove the knots without any pain with such accuracy. It left Yuri wondering why Flynn was keeping quiet about everything.

The blonde poured more water at the top of his lover's head to wash away the shampoo. With that done, they both finished cleaning with lingering caresses and kisses on lips and skin here and there. The raven haired male was the first of the two to slip out of the now lukewarm water, grabbing a fluffy towel within reach and drying himself. Another suddenly buried his field of vision not too long after and his hair was rubbed until it was not dripping on the floor anymore. Once the fleecy cloth was out of his face, Yuri turned it to the side and was met halfway by his lover's lips in a very sweet kiss.

"Wait for me in my room," Flynn whispered lovingly when they pulled apart.

The writer gave a nod in response and was about to head out from the bathroom, but was stopped when his wrist was caught and he turned an inquisitive expression towards his lover. The latter was looking to the side in embarrassment.

"Maybe you should put some pants on first?" he suggested.

When Yuri raised an eyebrow, a smirk already spreading on his lips, the tint of red on the pianist's cheeks only increased.

"It'll be... more fun that way?"

The writer doubted that the other meant it as a question, but the latter was so unsure of his own response that it sounded as such. Sniggering, and downright breaking in laughter at the glare he received, the long haired man decided to comply and dressed half of his body to please his lover before leaving the room.

He waited on the musician's bed with eagerness, glad that the other joined him mere moments after he arrived. The other was holding a bottle in hands that he laid on the night table next to the bed, within arms' reach. Knowing what it was for, Yuri paid it no mind, his eyes never leaving the perfect body he wanted pressed against his.

The moment Flynn placed a knee on his mattress, making it shift a little, the dark haired male slid his hands on the blonde's naked chest, snaking them upward until they circled the latter's neck to lower his head. Lips crushed together eagerly and tongues twirled with heat and passion. They fought for dominance, each not backing down until they had to pull apart to breathe. Flynn used that opportunity to shift in a better position, straddling the writer below him, both hands cupping the latter's cheeks and caressing the skin below his ears. Yuri quivered in trepidation, humming in delight at the attention.

"I'm glad we're finally together, love," the pianist murmured, his irises shining with earnest and deep affection.

The words and everything he read in those beautiful orbs were enough to light the writer's face as though he were caught on fire, especially when he realised just what exactly he had been called. It felt so incredibly off, so weird, that it caught him off guard.

God, Flynn was just so mushy!

_God, Flynn was just so mushy! Yuri narrowed his eyes in disbelief and, frankly, a little in disgust. There was no freaking way he was letting the blonde call him that! It was too lovey-dovey for his own taste. _

_"Love?" he repeated, as though the word burnt his tongue as he said it. _

_The pianist tilted his head to the side. _

"_What, you don't like it?" he inquired, disappointment clear in his voice. _

"_Hell no!" Yuri cried out, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "This is too mushy for me. I know you like to be romantic and all, but that's just asking for too much. There's no way I'll let you call me that. I'm Yuri and that's the end of that."_

_As he finished speaking, however, Yuri gulped uneasily and stared agape at the kicked puppy face now thrown at him. _

_Oh no he was not! There was no way Yuri would let the blonde win with that sort of tactic. For once, the long haired man would stand his ground and he would resist!_

"_That's so mean, Yuri," Flynn whined, approaching his lover one step at a time. "I was so eager to call you like that... Don't you think it would be sweet? It's my way to show you even more that I love you so much. Do you even realise how I longed to call you that? How I dreamt to give you sweet nicknames that would be just for you? I'm hurt that you wouldn't allow me to have such pleasures." _

_The kicked puppy face was worse as Yuri stared at it, tears almost shining in the corner of the musician's eyes. The raven haired male took a step backward, doing his best to resist as he stared away, but the more his lover spoke, the more his resolve was shattering. _

_God, why was Flynn so damn good at making him flinch?_

"_B-but it's embarrassing!" Yuri complained, still avoiding the other's gaze as his cheeks reddened. _

_The blonde took another step towards his lover while the latter attempted to take another one back, but found he was trapped by Flynn's piano behind him. The pianist seized the opportunity and cupped his lover's left cheek, his expression all the more pleading. The raven haired male closed his eyes. He did not want to lose!_

"_Why? It's not as though I'll call you that in public." Of course not, otherwise they could kiss their life goodbye. "Yuri..." _

_The dark haired male made the mistake of cracking one eye open and his field of vision was immediately filled with that crestfallen expression._

_ "Please, love?" _

_That was more than Yuri could take. He cracked. With a defeated and annoyed sigh, he nodded curtly, not believing he fell so easily in his lover's trap. Damn that idiot! _

_"Fine, do what you want," he growled, crossing his arms on his chest. _

_Flynn beamed, as though he were a little kid whom was presented with the best toy in the world. He gathered Yuri in a tight embrace, kissing him with passion, to which the long haired man answered half-reluctantly – the other half enjoying it with enthusiasm._

_Seriously, it did not take much to make that guy happy._

"_Thank you, love!" the pianist exclaimed once they pulled apart, and Yuri scrunched his nose at the fact the other did not lose time in the permission granted to him. "I love you," the other added with affectionate eyes, making the dark haired male sigh in discouragement, though a smile was tugging the corner of his lips. _

"_Thank goodness I do too, otherwise I don't know how I would put up with you," Yuri teased while the other chuckled, not offended in the least. _

"Yuri? Yuri what's wrong? Are you hurt? Come on, Yuri, answer me!" a panicked voice resonated and as the writer's surroundings slowly reappeared, he realised that he was holding his head, shaking all over.

He could scarcely believe it... another too clear memory, and this time while he was awake. What he remembered also came confirming the one he had two weeks prior: he and Flynn were once lovers, there were no doubts about it anymore. His trembling picking up, Yuri closed his eyes tightly, attempting to calm himself down, but found he could not. He was angry, hurt and confused... so confused. Why did Flynn keep this a secret? What was the reason? It only prompted him to revaluate his trust towards the blonde. He needed to know right now.

"Please, Yuri, speak to me!" Flynn pleaded with worry, reaching out for his lover, however the latter immediately pulled away, raising his head, his grey eyes a myriad of troubling emotions. "Y-Yuri?"

"We're lovers..." the long haired man breathed simply, watching what kind of reaction the other would get.

The pianist frowned with concern and incomprehension.

"What? Of course we are, Yuri! What's wrong? What's going on?"

For a second time, he tried to come in contact with the long haired man, to tenderly brush a few of his strands away, but his hand was slapped before it could. The pianist watched his lover in disbelief.

"Stop playing with me, already! You know perfectly well what I meant, so stop pretending as if you don't!" Yuri cried out in frustration, his hands clenching into fists.

He was tired, so tired of the musician's masquerade.

"We're lovers now, but we were lovers back before I lost my memories as well! And yet, you refused to tell me anything at all about me, about my past! What kind of lover does that?" he roared, shaking all over. He was also too absorbed by his anger to notice the horrified look the other was harboring.

"What am I supposed to trust? How am I supposed to know you're not playing me? What's even the point of hiding all of this from me?" the writer's tone escalated, hurt and fury displayed on his features.

Despite finally letting it all out, he did not feel better in the least. If anything, he sensed he would burst any moment now. Too long he had allowed Flynn to get away with his act.

"You remember everything...?"

It was nothing but a murmur filled with fright, barely audible even to ears within reach. Yuri almost missed it. He did not, however, and his rage only flared up. That was all Flynn could find to say? After the speech that was slapped at the pianist's face, that was all the latter could manage to utter for his defense? This was ridiculous. Not to add that, even if the mere question was enough to confirm that what Yuri remembered was true, it also showed how the pianist must not have really cared if he hid the fact well. Why else would he keep such information? Yuri had enough.

"Not everything, but enough to understand that you're playing with me!" he spat, pulling his legs near himself in order to shift them off the bed with the sole intent of leaving the bedroom to get to his own.

He was instantly grabbed by the wrist and pulled into a strong embrace, however, the pianist's body shaking all over. The writer jerked and struggled, trying to break free.

"Don't go, _please_!" Yuri ceased all movement, a gasp passing through his lips as he attempted to quell the sudden pang that invaded and tore his heart apart because of the tone used by the musician.

Agony. Horror. Distress. Sorrow. Remorse. All swirling in the deep blue sea that was Flynn's orbs. The long haired man did not get to see it long since the blonde buried his face in the crook of his neck, but it was enough to make him realise he might have been harsh. He had let his anger get the better of him and now he hurt the only person he cared about so much. Deeply, at that.

"I'm sorry, Yuri, I'm so sorry!" Flynn told in a quivering voice broken with sobs while his hold tightened against the other male, enough to make the latter wince discreetly in pain, although he did not mention it. "Please don't leave, I'm begging you!" his tone lowered to an upset whisper.

Yuri was shocked to feel moist on his skin and as he looked down to stare at the blond locks, he bit his bottom lip and laid his hand on top of his lover's head, caressing the soft strands.

It was the first time he saw Flynn cry – that he remembered of, of course – and it left him confused and aggrieved. The pianist was always so strong of character, compensating for his weak health. He was cool-headed and thought things through to figure out how he could settle his problems. To hear him cry and be in such pain was heartbreaking to say the least. Yuri could not believe that his lover meant any harm in not telling anymore, not when he was so distressed. Something must have happened before he lost his memories, something that prevented the blonde from speaking up and telling the whole truth.

With that in mind, his hesitancy and frustration left him completely and he wrapped his free arm around the other's back, holding him close.

"I need to know why you don't want to say anything to me! I can see you're upset, Flynn, but so am I. You have to understand that it's hard for me to trust you when you keep so many secrets from me," contrary to earlier, his tone was now calm and collected as he watched closely his lover's reaction, waiting to finally receive an answer.

Flynn did not budge from his spot, his body jerking from time to time, gasps and sobs betraying the expression he desperately wanted to hide. Seconds ticked by, soon followed by minutes, before the musician finally found the strength to answer the long haired man.

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you. I'm too much of a selfish coward to say anything to you. I know it's unfair and I know it's hard to trust me because I don't want to speak, but I... I still don't want to. It would be too much for me, I..."

Yuri could almost sense his lover grit his teeth as he attempted to block another sob.

It was best if he stopped this conversation. Flynn was in no state to keep going.

"Okay, I get it," he whispered in a gentle tone, the hand on the blonde's back initiating slow up and down movements in reassuring caresses. "I won't ask again."

The last sentence was uttered a bit more reluctantly, but he had no choice. The way the subject disturbed his lover could certainly not be good for his health. Besides, he could not really force the pianist to explain events that made him so uncomfortable, it would be too cruel.

Which left Yuri to wonder all the more as to what could have happened before he lost his memory. Doubt settled once again in his heart, but this time, towards himself. Flynn had been so frightened that the long haired man would _leave_. Could this mean that... he left the musician before? If so, why had he been so stupid? Or worse, did he hurt the pianist intentionally?

The thought was enough to make him want to heave and he closed his eyes to regain control over himself. For now, it was best not to think about it. Maybe it was not his fault at all. Maybe something else entirely happened, and telling Yuri about his past would remind Flynn of how he suffered through that ordeal.

It really was no use pondering over it.

"I'm sorry," the blonde breathed for the umpteenth time, earning a quiet sigh from the writer. "I'm not ready now, but I promise that I'll brace myself so that, someday, I can tell you everything. For now, though, please bear with me," those words left the raven haired male speechless and he did not know what to do.

Soon, however, he closed his eyes and laid his cheek atop the other's head, nodding slowly. This was enough. To know that Flynn would make the efforts and find the courage to tell him the story someday was enough. He would hold his own part of the bargain and would not ask about his past ever again.

After that, silence settled between the two. Emotionally tired, and knowing his lover was too, Yuri laid down on the mattress, bringing Flynn with him since the latter would not loosen his hold in the least. The latter's sobs had thankfully stopped, but his body was still trembling. After struggling to pull the covers above them, keeping their body warms, the long haired man ran some of his fingers up and down in his lover's back, the others caressing his hair with love and comfort.

Gradually, the blonde's breathing evened and his body stilled. With a smile, Yuri listened to the regular intake of breaths and closed his eyes. The regular movements he was making gradually subsided and he drifted off from time to time until he, too, fell in Morpheus' arms.

* * *

[1] That last sentence being a real quote from Chopin. ;p

[2] You'll have to understand that, in that time, baths were taken at a longer rate than we do now. Commoners bathed once a month approximately, but nobles bathed at a more frequent rate. Still, Chopin's not a noble, but he's not that much of a commoner either, so I'd say he's one to do so every three or four days. Not fun to know, but hey, that was how it was back then xD

* * *

**A/N: **And here we have it! Chapter five finally done. I hope it was to your taste ^w^**  
**

The first plot twist finally came! (though I shouldn't call it that because you've probably all seen that come a mile away xD)

I'm seriously drawing a blank here as to what I wanted to say about this chapter, so I'll just stop O.O I must warn you, though, that I might not get to post anything very soon, considering that school starts next week and it's going to be one rough semester. I'll do my best, though ^^

I hope each and every one of you had a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all. I wish you health and success in everything you do!

See you guys!


	6. Sixth movement

**A/N:** Hey, I'm alive! Sorry about the lack of update, guys, I've been busy with my internship (it's not schoolwork anymore, though it's still about school, lol). But, here I finally am with another chapter. I won't drag, so you can get to reading faster ;p

**Disclaimers:** unfortunately, I don't have the rights to Yuri and Flynn. They still belong to Namco, as well as other characters from Vesperia. The rest are mine or inspirations of historical people.

**Edit: **Thank you yo sweet Tales-of-Brothers who kindly translated for me the German sentences ^w^

Well, have fun reading!

* * *

**Sixth movement**

Fingers gently ran through blond locks as onyx irises tenderly watched over the sleeping form just in front. They roamed down to the soft skin, trailing on one cheek before stopping on those pulpous, inviting lips that begged to be captured. Yuri heaved a little sigh as his hand retreated and a light but a sad smile tugged at his lips as he recalled memories forgotten until merely recently.

He could not grasp fully yet the fact that Flynn never mentioned the two of them being lovers once before. Some dark, bitter part of the long haired man murmured malevolent reasons: surely the pianist did not love him anymore, or maybe he only wanted to play with Yuri's heart from the beginning. However, the raven haired male promptly pushed those thoughts away, not paying them any mind at all anymore. Not after what he saw last night. He still had difficulties believing how distraught the musician had been at the writer's anger. That certainly was not the kind of reactions someone who did not care had.

No... A more suitable explanation would be that Yuri did something unforgivable to his lover before he lost his memories. It killed the raven haired male to think so, but what else could it be? Why else would Flynn be so frightened at the writer leaving him?

Deep in his thoughts, the dark haired man did not see his lover's eyes slowly flutter open, staring straight at the other while still fogged with sleep. He did not move nor did he speak for a little while, only watching carefully at Yuri who clearly was bothered by something, before he finally made his waking known. He carefully reached for the raven haired male's cheek in a gentle caress as he leaned his face in, tenderly pressing their lips together, pulling the writer out of his thoughts. When Flynn pulled away, he smiled hesitantly.

"Good morning," he whispered softly.

Yuri could see an edge of carefulness in those deep sapphires. The pianist was obviously scared that the other would be mad because of the previous evening's events. The long haired man would just have to prove his lover otherwise. Even though he was full of questions and still a bit bitter with the fact that he was not allowed knowing his past, he was definitely not angry anymore. He would keep everything to himself, hold on to his promise and would wait patiently until Flynn was ready to finally speak.

"Good morning," the writer offered as well with a light smile meant to reassure his lover. "How are you feeling this morning?" he inquired, leaning into the other's touch with a content expression.

It surprised the musician slightly, but he soon recovered from his shock as he chuckled.

"I'm feeling rested now, thank you." Flynn paused, weighing his words, before he spoke up once more. "Thank you for staying with me and not leaving," he ended up saying, his expression now laced with sadness and mild sorrow.

Yuri wondered for a moment if the pianist meant for not leaving the room and going to his own bed or for not leaving the house definitely to never come back. Maybe it was both. What he did know was that he did not regret staying in the least. He knew that if he left, his heart would break into thousands of pieces, never able to be mended together ever again.

"It's nothing," the writer replied before hearing his stomach growl all of sudden.

Another growl responded in kind, this time coming from another stomach. Chuckling amusingly, the raven haired male sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair to comb his dishevelled strands. He was about to leave the warm and comfortable sheets in order to fix them both something to eat, but his wrist was grabbed, making him stop in his track. Looking down, Yuri saw Flynn staring pleadingly at him.

"I know we're both hungry, but... can't we just stay as we were for just a little while more? I... missed this," he admitted with a faint blush on his cheeks, to which the writer responded with a kind and fond smile.

He rolled his eyes in mock discouragement before he lied down again and was immediately pulled into a loving embrace. Silence settled between the two, but it was far from uneasy.

It dragged on for a little while longer, the blonde burying his head into the crook of Yuri's neck, his strands tickling the dark haired male's skin. It was far from an uncomfortable sensation, however, so he let his lover do as he pleased. As time passed slowly, the writer found himself slowly drowsing back to sleep, but the other's voice prevented him from doing so.

"He... he was your uncle," Flynn whispered, never once looking up as he did.

Yuri raised an inquisitive eyebrow, not understanding what the other was getting at.

"What are you talking about?"

"Lefevre. Do you remember the princess' birthday, when the court gathered for the concert I was to give her? You met with Lefevre at that time and became mad when you realised I was hiding something from you because I was anxious of this meeting."

Yuri merely nodded at the statement, waiting for the pianist to continue, which did not take long.

"I feared this because he was your uncle. I wasn't sure if he would reveal anything to you or if, by seeing him, you would recover some of your memories. I'm still sorry about that."

The blonde was looking directly into his lover's eyes, the latter left speechless as his stomach twisted. He knew how uneasy this left Flynn and Yuri really should be telling the former not to force himself if it was too much. However, the writer could not bring himself to it; he wanted to know more about himself, after all. Besides, maybe revealing this information was a way for the musician to prove he would definitely relate the long haired man's past over time.

"That's also why you know how to speak French," Flynn continued. "You always came to Paris every winter to spend New Year with your family. Every time we saw each other again, however, you would always complain about how boring it was because there was no one else your age and everyone there ignored you. But you still were happy to tell me how you always wrecked havoc in the mansion by playing pranks on everyone, especially your uncle. You might've been reprimanded many times, but you couldn't care less since you did it countless times again, after all."

As he spoke, a fond smile appeared on Flynn's lips and he chuckled lightly. And as the words flowed out, images flashed briefly in front of Yuri's eyes, though they lingered long enough for him to carve them in his memories: long tables filled endlessly with delicious food that was barely touched by everyone around; uptight adults dressed richly, speaking to each other and engrossed in boring conversations such as politic; Lefevre sneering haughtily at him, as though he were nothing more than a hindrance...

Well, now Yuri understood clearly _why_ he despised nobles of all sorts. He had to mix with such typically selfish people once before and always hated them from the very start. They did not care about anyone but themselves, which the long haired man found unacceptable.

"Well, that certainly explains why he and his mansion felt so familiar," the writer pointed out, shrugging nonchalantly about it. He did not care that much anymore. "Also explains why I didn't particularly like him even if I didn't know him."

Yuri did not pry for any more answers. If Flynn wanted to tell him more, the raven haired male would let him, but otherwise, he would not ask for anything. He was just glad that the pianist opened up a little already after their conversation from the previous evening. It showed that the blonde truly did want to make efforts and amend for what he was hiding all this time.

"Thanks for telling me this," the dark haired male flashed one of his usual smug grins before he leaned in to sensually kiss his lover, stealing both their breaths away.

He suddenly wanted to shove his fingers into the other's hair, grab those golden strands tightly, kiss Flynn until both their lips were swollen. However, both their stomach growled in protest, having been neglected for far too long already. With the mix of a discouraged sigh and an amused chuckle, Yuri sat up in the bed after leaving one last quick kiss on the pianist's lips.

"Okay, this time, I'm really going to go prepare breakfast."

And on that, he was out of bed and gone from the bedroom, soon followed by Flynn.

* * *

"Ah, this felt incredibly good," the pianist exclaimed softly after pressing down the few last notes of the melody he was just playing on his instrument.

The minute breakfast was done, and after a quick kiss on Yuri's lips, Flynn dashed out of the kitchen to his study where he immediately installed himself on his piano, his fingers already running across the keys in various melodies. With a chuckle, the writer watched him leave before cleaning the dishes.

When he was done, he grabbed his notebook in his own bedroom before joining the blonde inside the study where he sat on the couch, making himself comfortable to listen to the instrument while he wrote. He missed listening to his lover's playing, something he did not hear in quite a while. Hearing those songs put him at ease as it only confirmed to him that the musician was all right and – mostly – healthy.

The melodies were diverse, ranging from the ones the long haired male already knew to some variations and improvisation, depending on the other's mood. It also diverged from perky and joyous, to soft and delicate, changing to harsh and deep and ended up sorrowful and heartrending. The latter won out in the end, the blonde pouring out such feelings longer than the others. Yuri noticed how it was everything Flynn felt in the last weeks. It was incredible how he and the piano were connected as such, as though they were only one and the same.

When the musician finally stopped playing, after two whole hours nonstop, the raven haired man raised his head to watch and listen to the other.

"Thank you, my friend," Flynn whispered with a subtle smile as he brushed the keys from up to down in a subtle caress.

Yuri widened his eyes before they melted into a mirthful smirk, putting his quill down as he leaned his chin into the palm of his hand.

"Are you talking to your piano? You can't really be that old, can you?" he teased with a low chuckle.

The blonde whipped his head around towards the speaker, clearing his throat in embarrassment before he ended up smiling fondly.

"Actually, yes, I am," he answered truthfully, as though the other's mocking did not bother him after all.

To that, Yuri pouted lightly, disappointed that his teasing did not get through. Despite that, he was curious, so he raised an eyebrow, prompting the other to go on, which Flynn gladly did.

"This piano is a long-time friend who has known each and every single worry, happiness, sadness, anger and so on that I have felt. It is dreadful when something weighs on your mind, not to have a soul to unburden yourself to. You know what I mean. I tell my piano the things I used to tell you."[1]

Yuri was rather surprised at the revelation and he straightened his back, listening more intently. Would Flynn be telling him more of his past or would this end now? However, as he saw the pianist fidget as he realised his exact words, the writer smiled sadly and relaxed, knowing it was not for today. Not that he could really complain considering his lover already made a huge step this very morning by telling him about Lefevre.

"I... Sometimes I can only groan, suffer, and pour out my despair at the piano!"[2] the blonde continued with a chuckle, shaking his head as he stared at the instrument in front of him with a certain glint in his eyes that Yuri could not quite define.

What he could understand, however, was that there was this special connection between the two that made him slightly jealous. The long haired man could barely believe it, and he was feeling ridiculous about it, but he was indeed jealous of a piano. He could not help it nonetheless: that instrument knew so much more about its owner than Yuri did about his lover. It was rather unfair. The only comfort the writer could take was that he once was familiar with every parcel of the other's personality: his likes and dislikes, his fears, his passions... The raven haired male would just have to learn them all over again.

"Sometimes, I wish I could throw off the thoughts which poison my happiness," the musician murmured loud enough for the both to hear, his gaze now melancholic as he stared at the keys.

The dark haired man felt his heart twist at the words and he wanted to say something to make his lover feel better, but was thrown off when he saw a small smile tugging the other's lips.

"And yet I take a kind of pleasure in indulging them,"[3] Flynn finished with a low chuckle, now gazing back at his lover with a fond smile.

His amusement only grew as he noticed the weird look Yuri was throwing at him after that last statement, as though the writer was saying that Flynn definitely was the most bizarre of persons. And maybe he was. But Flynn would never change that. His piano was the second most important thing in his life.

Yuri being the first, of course.

A knock suddenly resounded inside the house, making the two occupants raise their heads at the sound. The pianist was the first to stand from his seat, already heading for the door while Yuri sighed in annoyance, hating that they had been torn from their conversation. He just hoped that it was not Liszt. He was not in the mood to see the man and the timing would just be too perfect to hate that damn musician even more.

Grabbing his notebook, the writer stood as well, heading for the door. When he did not hear the loud and obnoxious voice he came to know after almost a year, the long haired man felt relieved. He was proven right when he reached the entrance where Flynn was currently speaking with a short man wearing a suit, his graying hair kept short and clean telling of his age and status. Yuri had seen him a few times before: this was the pianist's sponsor, the one who found the musician most of his deals and discussed about the latter's piano pieces.

Knowing that they would discuss business in the study, the writer mouthed a _I'll be in the dining room_ to the blonde when the latter glanced at him briefly and, when he received a nod, gratitude splayed on the other's features, Yuri walked back to said place where he installed himself at the table.

Depending on what they were discussing, their meetings could last from a couple of minutes to a few hours. Today was something of an in-between for Flynn and his guest stayed cooped up in the study for a bit less than an hour, until the pianist bid his sponsor a good day.

Yuri raised his head from his notebook when he heard footsteps approach the dining room and saw his lover pop his head inside, making sure that the writer was still there, before walking in. Ponder was displayed on the blonde's features as he sat next to the long haired man. He was obviously still thinking about whatever it was his patron and he discussed previously.

"Yuri? Can I talk to you for a bit?" Flynn inquired softly, to which the other man raised an eyebrow, putting his quill down in order to show that he was all ears to the musician.

He was curious, for he knew that they would speak of something relatively serious; otherwise, the blue eyed male would not have asked to talk.

"Sure, what's up?" Yuri probed the other to go on.

Flynn searched for the best way to start the conversation, not really knowing what to begin with, but in the end, he sighed softly.

"How are you faring with the idea of a trip to Vienna?" he suddenly asked out of the blue, startling the writer ever so slightly.

A trip? Why would they make a trip all of a sudden? And that far?

"Erh... I don't know. I guess I'd need more information to be able to decide anything. Why would we be going there?" Yuri questioned, motioning for his lover to keep going because he would not be able to reach a decision until then.

"My sponsor offered me this trip to Vienna so that I could make a few concerts there, earn money, and get more famous," the pianist grimaced, almost shivering in disgust at the prospect of giving concerts in a city he never particularly liked. "In any normal circumstances, I would have refused such offer, because I seriously hate doing such high-scales concerts, and because I had a bad experience with Vienna. But as we discussed it and he suggested a month, I realised it might be a good way to make ourselves forgotten for a little while."

As Flynn saw Yuri frown bitterly, the former smiled sadly.

"There's a murderer on the loose waiting to get rid of you. If we stay here, there's a high chance that he might try to aim at you again, and who knows if he'll succeed. If we escape to Vienna for some time, however, it might help us get forgotten, lead the murderer somewhere else."

Yuri pondered over the idea, wondering if this was such a good idea. But the more he thought about it, the less flaws he could spot in it. It would be perfect, if only they put the plan to high extremes.

"If we really want that to work, this means that we can't tell where we are at all to anyone. This means that not even Liszt can know," he warned with a hard gaze, eyes unwavering as they stared right into the deep blue sea irises.

Flynn bit his lower lip, now realising the extent of his suggestion, and for a minute, the writer feared his lover would prefer to go back on his idea.

"Yes, I know. We won't tell him either," he conceded with mild disappointment.

It irked Yuri to see the blonde still so close to the other pianist, but there was nothing he could do about it; there was no way Flynn would ever believe Yuri without proofs of who Liszt really was and he could not forget the fact that they were friends despite everything. It was only normal the blonde would react in such a way.

"And I presume your sponsor would be coming with us as well?" the raven haired male pointed out, to which the musician nodded in assessment. "Then it'll be the perfect escape because the only other person knowing of our whereabouts will be with us. It will be impossible for anyone to know where we are. We'll just have to make sure that he doesn't tell anyone else before we depart."

It was a nice plan and, if they stuck to it, it might actually work and get Devereaux on a false lead, making him lose all traces of Yuri. The latter also hoped very hard that it would discourage the assassin completely, but he was not that much of an optimist.

"Good then. But before I agree to go, I need to know if you're really comfortable with this. I don't want to force you to do anything that would make you uneasy and I know that concerts are definitely not your thing. Are you sure you want to do this?" the writer inquired softly, his unwavering onyxes daring the other to lie.

Flynn chuckled as he nodded a second time.

"Yes, I'm certain Yuri. If it means protecting you, I wouldn't mind doing thousands of concerts every day. That's how much you mean to me."

The long haired man blushed violently, cursing at the other's cheesiness, but unable to remove the warm feeling of gratitude and touch growing in his chest.

"Besides, this will be a good occasion for a trip that I would otherwise not be able to afford. And since you'll be with me, giving concerts won't be so bad."

"Right," the writer agreed, clearing his throat as he tried to remove all traces of embarrassment.

But he was glad for this little improvised vacation they would get. It would mean they would be away from Liszt for a whole month, leaving the two some privacy they much needed.

Yuri would have to remember to thank Flynn's sponsor.

* * *

They were gone two days later. The very same afternoon that the two took the decision to go to Vienna, Flynn went to his patron to make the final arrangements for the trip. The latter was to leave one day early to make sure that everything would be settled once the pianist arrived to Austria's capital. As settled, the man told no one of this trip and the calash that would bring the two to Vienna arrived in the most secrecy. Not even Liszt knew of their sudden whereabouts.

The trip would take approximately two days with stops that were already determined for their meals and for the night they would have to spend in Germany. Yuri and Flynn both brought work to occupy their minds throughout the long time they would be sitting, not wanting to bore themselves out of their minds while they watched the landscape. As breathtaking as it could be, at some point, it became redundant.

So the long haired male wrote in his notebook, getting his novel ahead, while the pianist scribbled melodies invading his mind despite the fact that he was without a piano. He hummed the notes in a very soft voice to help himself. At some point, Flynn asked Yuri if the latter was bothered by it, but the writer shook his head. He would not admit it, but he adored Flynn's voice: it was deep, rich and sensual. The blonde was a very good singer.

"You said you've had a bad experience in Vienna. Why was that?" the raven haired male suddenly inquired after a few hours of travelling.

He was tired of writing in his notebook and was starting to feel a little dizzy because of the coach's constant racking and from the fact his head was always plunged. Besides, conversation might do him some good and lessen his boredom.

A heavy sigh was heaved on the other side and Yuri saw a bitter smile play on the pianist's lips.

"When I arrived there, I was fleeing Poland because of the crisis that was currently going on. At that time, Polish people were not very well liked or supported by the ones in Vienna. It took me seven months to be able to give some sort of concert in hope to make an income and keep on living. In the end, I was not even paid. I could not keep this rhythm of life, so I set for Paris instead," Flynn related as his eyes roamed to the window where he could see the slowly changing landscape.

The writer grimaced at the story, understanding well how hard it must have been for the musician.

"And we're going there now for you to give concerts?" the long haired man inquired, his tone laced with doubt, to which the other man chuckled.

"Yes, we are indeed. But don't worry about it, things are different now. I am more popular than I was back then and my name has travelled quite a lot in those few years. Not only that, but I also have a sponsor to help me, so we'll be all right."

Yuri nodded, his grey irises watching the blonde as the latter scribbled a couple of more notes on his papers. Despite that, the dark haired male did not want to stop their discussion just yet.

"You said you escaped Poland. Have you never returned there? What about your family?" Yuri knew he said that he would not be prying for any information, but since this was not really about _his_ past, maybe Flynn would not mind indulging him with such information.

Besides, the writer wanted to keep on learning more things about his lover, to be able to understand the pianist as he once was capable of.

The blonde's expression saddened despite the smile he gently graced Yuri.

"No, I've never returned. When I left, I was dead set on making a name for myself and for the good of my career. And after everything that happened to my country, I just... it did not feel right to go back," he explained, his irises now back outside the window. "I write to my family quite a lot, especially Ludwika, but that's the most I'll ever do, unless I can see them somewhere else. Besides, they have their own life to live. My father is busy with his work as a teacher and both Ludwika and Izabella are married now," he added with fondness in his voice.

The raven haired male tilted his head.

"And what about Emilia?"

Yuri's eyes widened in shock at the words he just uttered. He did not expect to remember the name of one of the pianist's sisters. What left him speechless was the fact that he could now see flashes of a young girl in his mind: a giggling lovely child, a genuinely smiling girl, a sister who was glued to her older brother with joy, and so many more. The images were too quick for the writer to grasp them all, but he did remember Emilia being full of life. He also recalled a fondness towards the sweet girl and he wished to be able to see her again someday.

Worry settled in the pit of the long haired man's stomach, however, when he saw the agony settle on Flynn's features. For a short while, the pianist remained silent, eyes set outside, never once daring to look back at his interlocutor. But then, he closed them tightly, as though bracing himself for what he was about to say.

"She... died," he whispered in a broken voice.

Yuri gasped silently, his heart instantly shattering at the news, and he could almost swear he heard it as he would have the broken glass of a mirror.

"What...?" he breathed, stunned.

A bitter smile painted the other's lips as the latter finally looked back at the long haired male, features holding nothing more but agony.

"She succumbed to consumption[4]. She was only fourteen then," Flynn related with difficulty.

Yuri immediately regretted prying, seeing how painful it was for the other to recall such a death, but his voice would not rise up and tell the blonde to stop.

"It happened quite fast. In two months, actually. You were there at the time. It... took a toll on both of us. You liked her as much as I did as a little sister. She was always so full of joy and life, but it was suddenly torn from her, and from us. It's already been seven years, and yet I still can't believe she's gone for good."

Tears were welling up in the corner of the pianist's eyes, but he wiped them away as his stare avoided the writer's.

The latter's mind was invaded with more flashes, of the same little girl, but this time, she was frail and sickly. She was confined to her bed, sleeping most of the time, smiling weakly to reassure the people surrounding her, but failing miserably so. From time to time, she would cough up blood in her pale and shaky hands, and it would grow stronger, deeper, eating her away. And then...

"_Yuri, Yuri..." her childlike voice rang up softly in the stuffy and dark room as her almost lifeless blue orbs would stare as much as they could to the man she was speaking to. _

_The latter and Flynn, who was next to him, were both doing their best to look strong, for the sake of the young teen. Despite the lacking glint in her eyes, she seemed to be somewhat lucid, a rarity lately considering the high fever taking hold of her._

"_Yeah, what is it princess?" Yuri inquired softly with a smile. _

_He set about calling her as such years ago, when they were still kids and she would always plead the two friends to play princess with her. Since then, always having a soft spot for the little girl, he always used the nickname to make her blush in delight. Today was no exception and her features brightened as much as they could. _

"_Come here," she whispered, gesturing him to lean down so that she could speak in his ear. _

_He complied, not without sparing a glance to his lover next to him who was watching the two with bittersweet affection. It was obvious how Flynn was fond of such proximity the other two had, but that he was torn by the fact that it would soon end. Not sure he could withhold such a gaze longer than that, Yuri returned his attention back on Emilia who was now ready to murmur whatever it was she wanted to tell the raven haired male. _

_She placed her hands between his ear and her mouth that were now inches away from each other. _

_"I think you two look so cute together," she began, making the dark haired man start while his eyes grew wide. _

_She could not be meaning what he thought she was, could she? Was this little fourteen year old girl so clever as to have figured out what the real relationship was between her brother and his friend? _

_"I saw you kiss in the study, when you thought no one was looking. I think you're perfect for each other," she continued with happiness in her voice, confirming Yuri's assumption. _

_The latter was both bewildered and so very relieved and glad to hear such words. To know that the little girl he was considering a sister was accepting them was the most precious gift she could offer him. _

"_Take good care of him for me, okay?" _

_Yuri's eyebrows furrowed in pain for a brief moment, knowing well the impact of her words. Despite that, he nodded, his irises unwavering as he stared back at her. _

"_Forever. I promise." _

_She was dearly satisfied and she giggled softly as Flynn perked an eyebrow in wonder as he watched the two. _

"_What is it that you two are whispering about? It's a bit unfair to leave me in the dark like that, isn't it?" the blonde inquired with a hint of teasing in his voice, not really that jealous of the exchange occurring before him._

_ The other two stared at each other briefly before turning their eyes back to the pianist, grinning._

"_It's a secret!" the exclaimed in unison. _

Yuri closed his eyes tightly and attempted to keep in his now bubbling emotions. That was the last time they shared such a joyful moment together, just the three of them. The next day, she died in her sleep, her eyes never opening again, her lips tugged in an eternal light smile. Despite the suffering she went through, she was happy with the life she lived. And at least, she knew how loved she was by everyone, including Yuri, and that her family would certainly be well taken cared of.

A single crystal clear teardrop rolled down the writer's cheek and the latter reached a shaking and disbelieving hand to his face. He could certainly not help it, however. Remembering now the death of someone precious was painful. It felt as though he was reliving his grief and mourning a second time.

"I'm sorry," Yuri finally whispered, uneasy at the tension now settled between the two.

Flynn exhaled silently before shaking his head.

"There's no need. You didn't remember. And at least, you do now. She would be glad that you remembered her on your own. She liked you a lot," the pianist revealed with his sorrowed smile, though his mood was clearly lifting up.

Yuri nodded with his usual light smirk. Yet, the latter added nothing else, letting silence occupy the calash once more. That was enough conversation for now and his notebook suddenly seemed appealing. It would help him collect his thoughts.

Somehow, he could not shake that deep feeling he betrayed the very promise he made to Emilia.

* * *

They arrived in Vienna the next day and the sun had already set long ago. Stars were now filling the sky brightly as they illuminated the streets along with the lampposts. It was already time for supper when the calash stopped to the hotel they would be staying at for the next month.

As they hopped down the coach, their rider reminded them that, as agreed, Flynn's host should already be inside the hotel, waiting for their arrival. The coachman would also be going back to France and would return in a month to pick them up. On that note, he also hopped down the carriage and grabbed the two's luggage, ignoring their offers for help and protests that he do everything.

The pianist sighed, bringing a hand to his forehead in an amused discouraged and tired gesture. This caught the long haired man's attention who glanced at his lover, already noticing how tired he looked and how white his skin was compared to usual. With a worried frown, Yuri approached the blonde, resting a gentle hand on the other's shoulder.

"Flynn? You all right? You look a bit pale..."

Flynn drew an exhausted smile he gave the writer and the latter suddenly realised that it must have been the trip. Of course the musician was not fine; with how fragile his health was, the long travel was bound to have taken its toll on his body.

"I'm fine," he breathed softly, ignoring the doubtful look he received. "Just tired. Let's go," he probed as he walked on, leaving no choice for Yuri but to follow.

Music filled their ears as they entered the lobby and Yuri's eyes widened at the scenery upholding before him once the doors closed behind him. Numerous people were around, chatting and laughing cheerfully while they entered what resembled a ballroom, from which the music of various instruments resounded into perky and joyful waltzes.

As he could see from his spot, people were dancing inside the room, clearly having the time of their lives. This was new to the writer, who had never heard of hotels having such soirees holding so many people.

Flynn must have seen his dumbfounded expression because the former smiled amusingly.

"Among the numerous pleasures of Vienna, the hotel evenings are famous," he explained as he walked towards the reception, where the coachman already was, Yuri now following him. "During supper, Strauss or Lanner play waltzes...After every waltz they get huge applause; and if they play a Quodlibet, or jumble of opera, song and dance, the hearers are so overjoyed that they don't know what to do with themselves."

As if on cue, rounds of applauses resounded inside the ballroom. Flynn rolled his eyes with a low sigh.

"It shows the corrupt taste of the Viennese public,"[5] he whispered so that only Yuri and he could hear, now that they were near the reception.

The long haired man chuckled, surprised to hear such words from the pianist, but it was true that the latter did not hold Vienna in his heart.

"Ah, Frederic! You've finally arrived! I'm glad to see you safe and sound!" a voice exclaimed behind them and, as they turned, they saw the pianist's sponsor walk down the stairs.

The man joined them soon enough, nodding briefly to Yuri in greeting before returning his attention back on the blonde.

"It's nice to see you as well, Richard. I hope the trip was not too rough?" Flynn answered courteously.

They continued to exchange pleasantries for a few moments more while the man named Richard went to the counter to finalize everything that would be needed for the musician and his friend. The writer merely watched the two from aback, his gaze sometimes flickering to the ballroom with curiosity, wondering how exactly the musicians managed to put their crowd in such a state.

After minutes that ticked by and making sure that the other two were not about to finish their conversation and go somewhere else, the long haired male quickly vanished to the adjacent room, his curiosity getting the better of him. He did not go very far, however, staying near the entrance in case Flynn would start searching for him. He knew how fatigued the pianist was, he did not want to make the latter even more exhausted.

People were definitely having a blast, dancing and laughing, twirling in their elegant dresses or three-piece suits. There was a single pianist sitting in front of the ebony instrument on the small stage while other musicians played at the back, more discreet than the main artist. The man's style was definitely different than Flynn's, Yuri realised, since he was playing with strong and vivified movements, enjoying the moment with amusement.

"Dein Gesicht ist mir noch nicht begegnet, schöner. Na, Lust auf ein Tänzchen?"[6] a feminine voice suddenly tore him from his thoughts and the dark haired man looked down to see a woman, no more than eighteen, looking at him with doe eyes while she fanned herself with the delicate purple fan matching her velvety and frilly dress.

Yuri was immediately taken aback, not understanding a word that she said. She was certainly not speaking Polish, which would have been surprising. They were in a different country; it was normal for him to not understand.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak the language here," he admitted, knowing she would get the message that they could not communicate. Nevertheless, he somehow switched to Polish instead of French to speak with her, as though maybe it was more plausible for her to know the language. Needless to say that he was shocked to see her smile sweetly.

"Oh, that is all right, I speak Polish a little," she admitted with a thick accent.

Her speaking was rather rough, but it was at least understandable.

"I was saying I had not saw your face before. Join me for dance?" she revealed, her smile turning bolder, seducing.

Yuri averted his eyes, suddenly feeling uneasy. He was certain that, usually, the men were the ones to invite dancing. The young woman was audacious, he would give her that, but it did not mean it put him at ease.

He politely smiled at her while he shook his head.

"I'll unfortunately have to decline. I'm not very good at dancing. Besides, I'll need to leave soon, my room is getting ready," he refused.

She scoffed and puffed her cheeks before getting away, leaving a very perplexed Yuri. Why was she so angry? He had been polite.

He did not and would never understand women.

"We barely arrived and someone's already flirting with you? You're not wasting any time," Flynn exclaimed next to him with a light furrow of brows and... was that a pout?

Oh god, it was! Yuri had no idea Flynn could pout! It was actually really cute! The raven haired male chuckled, suddenly wanting to play along. It would be fun to pull that expression on the blonde even longer.

"Yeah, are you jealous?" he taunted, to which the pianist crossed his arms on his chest, averting his gaze quickly, a hue of red now tinting his cheeks.

"And what if I am?" the other replied softly, eyebrows pulling together in light worry.

Yuri laughed softly in sympathy and he placed a gentle hand on the musician's shoulder, knowing very well that cupping his lover's cheek would not be well received in public. He squeezed it lightly to get Flynn's attention and, when the latter turned his blue irises back to the former, Yuri smiled.

"Hey, I was joking, you know that." Flynn sighed, returning the smile with an expression on his features that told he was a bit discouraged at himself for doubting. "Come on, if you're here, it's because we've got our room, right? Let's go, we both need the sleep."

Flynn more than Yuri. Even if the writer could feel the fatigue weighing on his shoulders after a long and tiring trip, he could also see the other's skin turning whiter and his breathing getting shallower, coming out in ragged puffs. It worried the long haired man greatly and he hoped very much that his lover would not be getting sick. It certainly was not the time for that. Without any more delays, Yuri guided the pianist outside the room so that they could search for their bedroom.

* * *

"This is _not_ working!"

A cry of fury echoed in the room and it was all it took for Flynn not to slam the keys below his hands. Thankfully, despite the anger, he would never dare hurt the precious instrument, especially since it was not his. It did not help his frustration leaving, however; on the contrary, it only fueled it more, making his playing even worse, which fueled his frustration once again. It was a vicious circle.

It had been already two days since Yuri and the pianist were in Vienna and, in another two days, a concert would be held. For the occasion, Flynn was allowed access to a piano inside the concert hall he would be playing at so that he could practice before the D-day.

Of course, the long haired man was accompanying his lover, pretexting that he wanted to hear him play while he wrote, but in reality, he was following him to make sure that Flynn would be all right. Yuri could very well see the nervousness invading the blonde, tensing his shoulders and fissuring his usual calmness and gentleness on his features. The fact that the pianist was not able to practice the whole first day, confined in bed because of a mild fever and a light cough, did not help his stress a single bit.

The writer was right to do so. He knew that the other was on the verge of cracking and the day of the concert was not even that near yet. The pianist was not exaggerating when he told he became a mess the three days before a recital. In the end, it also affected the musician's playing, the latter making mistakes he never did, which could only bring down his self-esteem.

"Hey, hey, calm down," Yuri probed in a reassuring tone as he closed his notebook and stood from his spot, approaching the other man.

He placed two strong and comforting hands on the blonde's shoulders, as though attempting to sap the frustration away, even if it was not possible.

"Shut up, Yuri, now's not the time," Flynn snapped angrily, his fingers already trailing down to the right keys, getting ready to play for the umpteenth time.

The writer tsked in annoyance at the other's mood, but did not let himself get discouraged, knowing full well that it was not the musician's intention to be rude. Instead, one of Yuri's hand slid beneath the blonde's chin and pulled the latter's head backward before the raven haired male leaned in and captured the delicious lips he always longed for. It seemed to do the trick in distracting his lover who moaned sweetly, his eyes sliding shut and his own fingers leaving the piano, reaching for Yuri's cheek in a fleeting caress.

"Better?" the long haired male asked once he pulled away with a smug smirk, already sensing some of the tension leaving Flynn's shoulders.

The latter also seemed more content, a silent sigh of relief escaping his lips.

The pianist nodded slowly.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you," he answered as he looked back at the instrument, discouragement present in his eyes. "I just can't seem to get it right and this frustrates me. It is still no reason to take it out on you. But I can't help but wonder what will it be in front of thousands of people? How will I play? How bad will I be if I keep up this pace? Imagining it only frightens me..." Flynn explained, staring at his hand before closing it into a fist.

Suddenly worried, Yuri knew he could not let his lover's train of thoughts continue any longer. Without pondering over it, the writer straddled the pianist so that the long haired man was sitting on the other's lap and they were both facing each other. Yuri cupped the blonde's face gently before the former left Flynn a quick and loving kiss.

"Okay, stop right there. What happened to the confident Flynn? You're already used to playing in front of people. The only difference is that they're friends and less numerous. Still, playing in front of them doesn't make you nervous at all because you know your skills are extraordinary and you'll play wonderfully. It's the same for a concert and you know it."

The dark haired man seemed to rethink his last sentence before he chuckled.

"Actually, I'm wondering why you're scared of what mere strangers that you'll never see again will say and why you're comfortable around people you're in close contact with. Shouldn't it be the other way around?" he asked as he shrugged, finding the logic behind the pianist's nervousness quite funny.

Flynn's eyes widened slightly as he blinked, the words processing to his mind, before he too laughed and embraced his lover tightly, his arms circling the long haired male's waist.

"I can't believe you," the blonde whispered amusingly while he buried his face into the other's neck, breathing in his scent.

Yuri pulled an indignant expression, ready to retort, but the musician did not leave him time.

"Not only do you always find the right words, but you even use the same ones even if you don't remember. You're definitely something."

This took the writer aback and, for a moment, he did not know what to do. Should he ask for more? No, he promised he would not pry. Besides, the only thing that he died to do at the moment was to hold his lover as tightly, revelling in this revealed information, reassuring him that if one day he remembered everything, he might not become a different person.

And so, in the end, he too wrapped his arms around the blonde's back, laying his cheek atop the ticklish golden locks.

When they pulled apart and their eyes met once more, a mischievous smirk tugged Yuri's lips, making Flynn slightly suspicious. The long haired male playfully fiddled with the other's strands, the former approaching his face so that their nose were now touching.

"Well, I'm glad I found the right words, but knowing you, you'll end up stressing again. So tell you what, if you promise to do your best on your concert and simply have fun, just as you always do, I will give you a nice reward," he promised sultrily, running down his forefinger lightly and sensually on the side of Flynn's face, then down his neck, sending the musician violent shivers down his spine.

The deep blue irises shone with want as a smirk of his own appeared on his lips.

"Oh? What kind of reward?" he questioned anyway, certainly just for the fun of hearing it.

But Yuri was not about to burst this bubble of fun and simply tell. No, he would definitely continue to play along.

"Hmm... I don't know. Do you have something in mind?" he murmured, his mouth oh so near the blonde's ear, his hot breath tickling the sensitive skin while Flynn hummed in delight.

"Well, you're the one who suggested it. You're supposed to already have an idea," the pianist replied a bit shakily, his eyes closed as he leaned into his lover's lips now pressed against his revealed neck.

The other chuckled in his kiss while his hands roamed on the blonde's chest, kneading and caressing the muscles through the fabric. Another delicious moan escaped Flynn's throat as he purred, his own fingers now trailing down Yuri's sides to rest on his hip, wanting so badly to slide under the shirt and brush the alluring skin waiting for him, screaming for him even. He only needed to pull it up and...

Footsteps echoed in the hall behind the door and both the room's occupants' heads snapped up at the sound, realising it was coming their way. They quickly pulled apart, dusting their clothes of any wrinkles and adjusting themselves to look presentable, only managing to finish when none other than Flynn's sponsor entered, knocking on the already opened door.

"Hello, Frederic. How are you doing this morning?"

The pianist smiled politely, already answering while his eyes travelled back to Yuri in a very brief glance. It was still enough for the writer to understand the message they held, making the latter smirk.

Flynn would hold Yuri onto that promise and would wait impatiently for that reward.

* * *

The hustle and bustle inside the concert hall was loud and clear as Yuri made his way through the stairs leading to the balcony which held his seat. Every person present was elegantly dressed, women wearing frilly and laced puffed dresses ranging from multiple colours while men wore the usual three-piece suits, occasionally accompanied by top hats.

Yuri himself was vestured of his formal outfit he wore back at the princess' birthday. It would have been enough for him, but Flynn flatly refused to leave until Yuri agreed to do something with his hair instead of letting them loose. It annoyed the writer greatly, who thought that his hair was just fine as it was, but the kicked puppy expression made him crack.

In the end, he was forced to let a happy Flynn pull his hair up in a high ponytail, the latter exclaiming that Yuri was that just more handsome this way. The long haired male was touched, but he would die long before admitting it, just as he refuted the fact he was blushing when the pianist pointed it out with a chuckle.

There were a few seats in his balcony that were already taken by their owners, they too chatting with their neighbours while they waited for the concert to start. The raven haired male ignored them as he walked to the seat indicated on his ticket. Once he was there, he took in his surroundings, evaluating how well placed he was. Being in the front row, he could see the stage distinctly, and considering that the balcony was near the scene, he knew that once the red velvety curtains would rise, he would be able to watch his lover very clearly.

"…gehört, dass Chopin das letzte Mal keinen Erfolg hatte. Wozu versucht er es überhaupt noch einmal?"[7] Yuri distinctly heard his lover's name being uttered from one of the noblewomen behind him and it was with utter disgust that he distinguished disdain and mockery as it was pronounced.

They even dared snicker and continue the conversation, the pianist's name coming up two or three times more. It infuriated the pianist because he could certainly not reply and defend Flynn's honour for he could not speak German. His message would not hold any meaning. Worst of all, he also promised the musician he would behave during the evening.

As though Flynn already knew something as such could happen...

With a groan, the long haired male leaned on the banister, head resting on his folded arms, eyes intently kept on the red curtain. He could not wait for Flynn to finally make his appearance and show those icky women how they were wrong to mock him so. And maybe a major part of the audience as well. If he remembered well, the Viennese public did not welcome the pianist's work with arms wide open. The blonde needed to show them what they missed out on.

As if on cue, the curtains slowly rose from their spot, revealing the very long grand piano surrounded by many candelabrum, the lights emanating from the multiple small flames giving a mysterious and mystic feeling to the music that was about to start.

A man walked from the backstage, approaching the front stage and addressed the public with a smile and a speech in German that Yuri could not comprehend. From the way he heard Flynn's family name a few times, however, he could easily guess that it was the announcer. Polite applauses erupted from the people seated as the man exited the scene, soon to be replaced by a blonde the writer knew too well.

Flynn looked gracious as he made his way to the piano, his movements steady and elegant. He did not look nervous in the least, but Yuri knew better: the blonde must be shaking from the inside. Besides, his trained eyes could tell: there was this subtle crispness on his smile, his fingers were playing unnoticeably in the air, and his head was hung just a little lower than usual. The musician must be having a hard time controlling himself. His lover just hoped that he would be fine.

Standing next to the piano and in front of the bench, Flynn placed a hand on the side of the veneer instrument and bowed to his public as they applauded once more, a little more cheerfully than they did for the announcer. It was something, at the very least, as though some people in the room were ready to give the pianist a chance, considering his success in France. Yuri wondered if this would help Flynn in feeling more at ease.

It must have, because once his fingers lowered the keys in their usual caress, the sound was steady and the music flowing agreeably, almost just as Yuri was used to hearing. It lacked a certain spark, one that was characteristic to the pianist whenever he was completely at ease and became one with his piano, but it did not mean that the blonde's playing was wonderfully enchanting. Furthermore, the writer was somehow glad that said spark was not present; he felt as though it was something Flynn liked to keep private and that Yuri was the only one allowed to see.

As he listened intently to the delicate euphonies, the raven haired male vaguely heard the women from earlier whispering in awe this time, the mocking completely gone from their voices. A light smirk spread on the writer's lips, glad that they were gaping. Served them right.

Yuri closed his eyes and let himself go with the music's flow, entranced by it. It was relaxing and familiar, and he would never get tired of it even if he heard the melodies times and times again. He did not acknowledge how the hours were passing by, too engrossed in the music. He only noticed once he heard loud clapping and cheering erupt from the room, people moving up in a standing ovation to which the musician humbly bowed with a light smile.

Now that he was brought back to reality, the writer too was applauding with all his heart, a proud smirk stretching his lips. He could, however, not help the disappointment as he realised that his favourite song had not been played. He did not hear it at all that night. Maybe the pianist lacked time.

The applauses kept fusing warmly as Flynn made his way to the backstage and continued for another minute until the musician came back. Cheering insisted, asking for a recall. The pianist did not waste any time and installed himself on the piano once more, getting ready to play. People immediately silenced themselves, eagerly sitting back on their seats.

And as the first notes echoed gently, a warm sensation grew inside Yuri's chest as he understood that the very piece Flynn kept for last was actually _Farewell_. There was no way now that Yuri could believe his lover had no idea what the former's favourite song was. It touched the writer to no end as he listened in, enthralled.

The warmth only grew when the piece ended, this time along with the usual twinge of sadness he usually felt whenever he heard this particular melody. He applauded once again with everyone else, but once the pianist was gone to the backstage and that the writer was certain the former would not be back, the latter bolted from the balcony, dashing out to the stairs and making his way to the backstage, ignoring the odd looks he was receiving from the nobles. Why would he care anyway? It was not like he would see them again. And besides, even if he did, he could not understand them, so that resolved the question.

Knowing very well the room Flynn would be in, the raven haired male made his way through the hallways, glad that there was no one in his way because of the rapid pace he was using. He climbed down multiple stairs until he arrived in the right hallway, already seeing the door to the pianist's room opened. Without another thought, Yuri crossed the entryway, closed the door behind him with his foot without a glance and, when the blonde turned towards the newcomer, the writer immediately assaulted him, embracing him and capturing the other's lips in a sweet and demanding kiss.

Flynn's exclamation of surprise was muffled by the kiss, but he was fast to reply eagerly, melting into the embrace as he took the lead, his arms wrapping around the long haired male's waist. One of the latter's arms circled around the pianist's neck moved up, his hand reaching for the golden locks that he grabbed in a handful.

They soon separated, in need of air, and Flynn grinned sheepishly at his lover.

"Wow, someone's rather eager tonight," he commented with amusement, to which the other smirked, not ashamed of his actions.

If ever, he was more desirous, eyes gleaming with want and need while his fingers travelled down the side of the pianist's face to his neck in a sensual manoeuvre.

"That was to shut you up before you started complaining about how bad you might have been when it's a blatant lie," he admitted with a low chuckle, knowing very well it was the truth. "And I speak with experience," he added, speaking of the memory he regained at the hospital.

As if on cue, red tinted the blonde's cheeks as he averted his gaze, scratching his face with his forefinger in a nervous gesture.

"S-sorry," he murmured, completely embarrassed to have been found out so easily.

Yuri hummed, approaching his lips to Flynn's in a taunting and tempting tease, not capturing them in a second heated kiss.

"You were wonderful," he breathed loud enough for the both to hear. "They loved you a lot and you were a hit, there's no doubt about that. So stop worrying already."

The pianist tilted his head slightly, approaching his own lips as well, but not yet taking them into his hold.

"You know what, Yuri?" he questioned in a tone as low as the writer's.

The latter raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"I don't care anymore. Just kiss me already."

The long haired man briefly burst out in laughter before he soon happily complied, merging his lips with his lover's for the second time since he arrived.

"So if I understand this well, I did well enough for me to receive my reward?" Flynn questioned sultrily, mouth so close to his lover's ear as he spoke before he leaned the rest of the way to nibble at the sensitive skin.

The dark haired man moaned pleasantly, closing his eyes as he revelled in the attention. Unfortunately, he could not make the most of it for long because a knock suddenly echoed from the door behind them and the two occupants quickly had to separate from each other, both with an inward growl of annoyance. They barely got the time to get to a respectable distance that the newcomer already entered without even waiting for an answer. Yuri almost glared at the man once he realised that it was Richard. The sponsor had a knack for coming in at the most inappropriate moments.

Oblivious to the tension in the air directed at him, Richard smiled, arms wide open.

"Ah, Frederic, that was marvellous! You should be proud of your work today, because it was acclaimed greatly. I'm certain that, by tomorrow, you'll be the main subject in the newspaper; it'll make wonderful publicity! Maybe we will even be able to get you interviewed. I'm certain a lot of people would be interested to know more about you. Oh, imagine how more popular this will make you!" he exclaimed, eyes twinkling at the prospect.

Flynn rubbed his arm uncomfortably as he watched his sponsor carefully.

"Actually... would it be possible to keep things low?" he inquired, obviously uncertain as to how his words would be received.

Not too well, considering the wide and almost horrified look thrown his way.

"What? Frederic, what are you asking? This is for your career!" he spoke, an edge of outrage in his tone. "Do you want to ruin the efforts we've both put? And besides, making no publicity will make this trip be in vain!" Flynn sighed, shaking his head.

"I'm not really asking to not make any publicity for me. I just want to be careful that the news doesn't reach France," he explained, hoping this time that his point would get across.

Richard's excitement was now completely replaced by neutrality as he scrutinized the pianist, then turned his gaze towards Yuri who was half-listening to everything, only wishing that it would end soon so that he could get the blonde all to himself.

"It's for him, isn't it?" the sponsor questioned, pointing at the raven haired male with his chin in an unimpressed expression.

However, it was clear in his features that he already knew the answer, to which the musician nodded.

"Yes. If it's possible, I don't want words to spread out to France, at least not until we return there. Please, Richard, this is rather important," Flynn insisted, sidestepping towards Yuri in a somewhat protective manner, making sure to show how fundamental the matter was to him.

In the end, the sponsor sighed rather discouragingly, rubbing the bridge of his nose in a tired gesture.

"Very well, I will make sure that everything goes smoothly and stays in Vienna. But in exchange, you have to work even harder and get yourself known!"

The pianist beamed as he nodded, relieved to know that his lover would be protected – or that, at least, everything in everyone's capabilities would be done in order to make sure he would be alright and no one would come get him.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go see how things are going for you. I will see you tomorrow morning Frederic, and do not be surprise to hear about one or more interviews waiting for you," the older man warned before exiting the room, barely acknowledging the thank you Flynn exclaimed to him.

The two remaining did not move a muscle for a short while, as if expecting someone else to suddenly pop up, but when it was evident that no one would, the blonde was the first to turn around and grab his lover by the waist, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Sooo... where were we?" he asked in a low voice, amusement lacing his tone.

Yuri chuckled as he looked up to the other's blue irises, his own smugness on his features.

"We were about to go back to the hotel to make sure that no one would be bothering us again tonight," he revealed matter-of-factly and Flynn could not stop the laugh of amusement to escape his lips.

"Ah, you're right. Let's hurry. I can't wait to finally get my reward."

* * *

[1] Quoting Chopin here. He truly wrote/said those words, I just inserted them where I thought it fitted :3

[2] Same here.

[3] Same again.

[4] Consumption was the term back then for tuberculosis.

[5] Quoting again, lol.

[6] You'll have to excuse my german, I don't even know a single word. Thank google for that. **EDIT: **Thanks to Tales-of-Brothers for the real translation ^w^

[7] And in english: "... heard that Chopin was no successful the last time. Why is he even trying again?"

* * *

**A/N:** Oopsie! I cut right before the good part! Oh well, it'll be something for you guys to look forward too, fu fu fu!

I hope you enjoyed anyway! You've got to learn a bit more of Flynn's and Yuri's past, which is good, right? :) I know, though, that it's not a chapter full of action, I'm sorry about that. I'll make up for it in the next one, if you know what I mean *wiggles brows* xD

I'm sorry, I really don't know what to say more. Thank you for reading and leaving a review, it always means a lot to me. And also, I can't remember if I've replied to my reviewers the last time, so I'm sorry if I didn't. So busy _

See you next chapter!


	7. Seventh movement

**A/N:** Hey guys! Wow, it hasn't been that long since I last posted. What's going on? o.o No, seriously, considering I finished school, I have more free time on my hands, so I took that time to be a little productive, sometimes working on both chapters of my (and rose's) stories.

Anyway, enough babbling already. I'm pretty sure you're itching to read what's next, so here you go!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Tales of Vesperia, nor its characters. They belong to Namco. Historical characters are historical, but their interpretation belongs to me.

Have fun reading!

* * *

**Seventh movement**

"Flynn, what did you do?" Yuri whispered, a gasp hitching in his throat as he froze in place while his lover closed the door behind him.

The latter smiled gently before seizing the dark haired male by the waist into a tight and loving embrace. The blonde buried his face into the crook of the writer's neck and breathed in the latter's scent, already feeling the lust he suppressed for the trip back to the hotel coming back in full force. It however barely distracted Yuri whose eyes were travelling back and forth through the room in awe and uncertainty.

"Hmm? Don't you like it?" the pianist murmured in the other's ear, his warm breath tickling the skin.

Yuri closed his eyes, shivering violently, finally putting his attention away from the display inside the room. In most of its corners, on top of the night tables and desks, lied multiple lit candles illuminating the room dimly. It was giving off a romantic atmosphere, perfect for what they were about to do. It did not mean Yuri was not embarrassed by it.

"I asked a maid to light these during the time we would be gone since I was pretty certain she wouldn't be working anymore by the time we came back. I wanted tonight to feel perfect for you," Flynn added sensually, to which the other man blushed furiously.

"What if she made the connection? We are two men sharing the same room after all," the writer mumbled through his teeth, unable to find anything else to say.

The blonde merely chuckled at that statement, squeezing his lover tighter.

"Told her you would be absent and that I would use the opportunity," he admitted before shrugging. "I was careful, don't worry. And as long as it can make you happy, then it's all that matters," he breathed with a smile.

It only fueled the redness on the long haired man's face, making him look as though he were caught on fire. He averted his gaze, grumbling. Flynn was certain he caught something along the lines of 'Mushy idiot...', making his smile grow.

"And I can show you even more," the pianist told sweetly, turning Yuri around in his arms and stealing his lips away in a passionate kiss that was answered right away.

They slowly moved to one of the two queen beds, the raven haired male's hands already roaming on his lover's body with eagerness and want. Flynn moaned softly into the kiss, his own need already flaring up while his own fingers travelled to the other's cheeks, cupping the latter's face while he deepened the kiss, seeking entrance with his tongue. A battle for dominance settled between the two tongues once Yuri granted passage, but the writer was defeated in the end, moaning loudly as he sat on the comfy mattress below him.

They separated once the need for air was too strong, both panting loudly as their eyes filled with lust and want gazed at each other. There was nothing else that mattered except the other one now. The passion was strong, palpable, almost to the breaking point, but it would not reach it. They would embrace it tonight, finally get to love the other strongly, something that they were not able to do in years.

Because Yuri was not stupid; he knew that tonight would not be their first time, far from it. However, since he remembered none of the previous times, the writer only wished that it would be considered as a first for now, even if he would never admit it. And somehow, just by glancing at Flynn, Yuri knew that the former would make sure their embrace was filled with carefulness and love. The pianist would not have it any other way.

"I love you," Flynn whispered tenderly, leaning in to drop a soft kiss on the long haired male's forehead.

Yuri's eyelids slid shut as he revelled into the touch, his hands caressing the other's body upwards until they slid around his lover's neck. He wanted to answer those words, to reply them as well, but found that they blocked in his throat. And so he conveyed them through the only way he felt truly comfortable with: he kissed Flynn, pressing the pianist closer to his body with need.

The blonde pushed his lover to lie on the bed while the former straddled him, giving him better access. Once they pulled away from the kiss, in need of air, Flynn did not waste time, his lips already reaching for the other's neck, nibbling and sucking on the tender and sensitive flesh. It would obviously leave a mark, one that the musician would be proud of.

With a moan, Yuri tilted his head to the side, giving more access to the pianist. His hands were both gripping the other's vest from the latter's back, but they soon loosened their hold as the writer felt his own waistcoat being slowly removed. The clothing was the first to be discarded to the floor, leaving the long haired man with more exposed skin to be sucked by the musician.

The grey shirt did not take long to follow the vest on the floor. Yuri smirked sultrily as he watched his lover's blue irises roaming on his naked chest, taking in the sight now displayed before him. It was evident from the sparkle in the blonde's eyes that he was eager to taste every parcel of the peachy skin that he was not allowed to touch in so long – if they did not count the time in the bath a week ago.

Despite his lover's earnestness, the raven haired male gently grabbed Flynn's cheeks and brought him to his lips, capturing them in a soft kiss. He would not allow the pianist to touch him so, not until Yuri could return the favor. After all, that Flynn was still clothed completely and not him was rather unfair. Yuri also wanted to caress the other's skin.

And so he proceeded in removing the musician's waistcoat, only to realise that it was far too complicated for him to do so in his current position. With a growl, the writer eyed the costume with a glare, wishing he could rip it off instead of being careful with it. Flynn certainly saw the murderous look because he smiled both disapprovingly and amusingly as he pulled away from the sinful lips that had claimed his.

"Careful," he warned in a whisper. "This is my favourite outfit. I don't want it ruined like so many others."

A glint of challenge appeared into the raven haired male's eyes. Then, Yuri suddenly flipped them expertly, pinning Flynn down on the bed with a smug expression. It was the former's turn to be on top and he planned to make good use of it; namely remove those damn clothes that were in the way and make sure that, once it was done, he would draw the breath out of his lover.

The pianist blinked slowly, not having expected for the tables to turn as such, but he did not complain. He seemed to even like it, his lips stretching in amusement, his features showing his avidness. The blue eyed male obviously was pleased with the display that he could now watch freely. Yuri ignored the scrutinizing, knowing it would be best to do so in order not to blush.

Instead, he concentrated on taking off all the accessories on the other's clothing that prevented him from removing the rest. When he finally managed to pull them off, he either placed them on the near night table or threw them on the floor, depending on their fragility.

While he tasked himself with the outfit, and knowing that it would be best not to kiss if he wanted to finally be able to take off the stuff, Yuri instead rolled his hips on his lover's, sending them both violent shivers down their spines at the friction the contact produced. A loud moan escaped the pianist's throat as he closed his eyes in delight. It took everything out of Yuri not to do the same, however; he wanted to have Flynn bare chest and he would have him.

The dark haired male finally managed to discard the last piece of clothing on the ground. Pants and underclothes were now the only separation between the two. Yuri's fingers were already brushing the alluring skin below, caressing from Flynn's neck down to his chest, lingering on the reddish nipples for a brief, teasing moment before moving down further. The pianist leaned into the touch, gasping loudly, his cheeks flushing.

This made the raven haired male chuckle affectionately as he lowered his head to the other's stomach, his long strands pooling around the both on the bed. Yuri's lips stretched into a smirk, his tongue slipping through and lashing at the sweet flesh below, twirling tauntingly in the blonde's navel.

"Ngh! Yuri!" Flynn cried out, obviously ecstatic by the feeling such an intimate contact was procuring him.

It was weird how Yuri's body moved almost of its own accord, how it knew exactly where to touch. He was familiar with every parcel of skin displayed before him, knew where to tease and taunt with a quick brush of his fingers or where to linger sweetly. Just like those cute nipples, begging for his tongue to twirl on them and for his teeth to nibble them gently. It would be followed by Flynn shivering and squirming ever so slightly, leaning into the touch with a short intake of breath while he would hum pleasantly.

And just as the writer leaned his mouth on the other's chest and lapped at one of the cute little buttons, the reaction he came to expect immediately occurred. It was somewhat disturbing to know that his body could remember so much while his mind did so little.

But right now was not the time to think of it. It was not the time to think at all. The hands suddenly on Yuri's lower stomach immediately reminded him the very same fact, distracting him from his thoughts as he closed his eyes. A moan escaped his own lips when they suddenly lowered, sliding under his underpants, fingers teasing the sensitive flesh already hard. The long haired male murmured his lover's name, burying his head inside the crook of the pianist's neck, breathing in his scent as he concentrated on the wonderful bliss he was receiving from the new attention.

Without the writer much realising it, his pants were soon gone, leaving him bare under his lover's scrutinizing gaze. From his position, Yuri could not see the blonde's expression, but the former could easily imagine it: irises filled with longing that could only make the long haired male even more embarrassed. Sensing the blush creeping onto his cheeks, the latter wished to keep his head buried, but Flynn tenderly grabbed his shoulders and pushed him up so that they could both see each other well. A gentle smile was thrown Yuri's way, their lips almost meeting.

"You're so beautiful. I never get tired of seeing you," the pianist revealed, caressing his lover's cheek, his other hand lightly brushing against the other's inner thigh.

The writer hummed pleasantly, leaning into the touch, suppressing the blush that died to make itself known. There was no way he was going to give into embarrassment. There was still some unfairness going about, what with Flynn still being half-clothed.

Speaking of which, it was clear that the blonde wanted to take control again, but Yuri did not want to give it back just yet.

"Hmm, is that so?" he purred in the other's ear before pressing his lips onto it. "But I still think that things are unfair at the moment, don't you? Let's take care of that, shall we?"

In response, the musician gently grabbed his lover's face and pulled him into a passionate kiss, their tongues once more twirling together for dominance; a battle that the writer lost quickly, submitting to the sinfully skillful mouth ravaging his own.

They parted, both panting, Yuri pressed against Flynn whom, during their heated encounter, sat up partially. Their eyes met, blue as deep as the sky meshing with onyx burning with desire. The long haired male could not resist and pulled the musician into another needy kiss. While they were distracted, his hands moved down, caressing the skin sensually, kneading the muscles and chest. They teased the nipples briefly before moving down to the stomach until they reached for their goal: the last pieces of clothes in the way.

Yuri unceremoniously unbuttoned the black pants and, with Flynn's help, managed to slid them down the latter's legs and throw them on the floor, along with the underwear.

The raven haired male took some time to enjoy the new view. Having an erected Flynn displayed below him just for himself was exciting. The man was devilishly handsome and so hard to resist. Without delay, Yuri grinded their sensitive members together, two moans echoing in unison as the writer enjoyed the expression of pure ecstasy his lover pulled.

It was hard to remember what the long haired male wanted to do after such a move, however, since his mind shut down in order to see stars, delighted by the feeling their two crotches procured when rubbed together. Thankfully, it did not take long for Yuri to remember and he cupped the blonde's erection in his hands, massaging the shaft.

Flynn rested against the wall behind him, already feeling himself going weak. He closed his eyes, revelling in the care he was receiving. Yuri watched his lover with great interest before he tilted his head down, his tongue slipping out of his mouth to twirl around the nipple that did not receive much attention previously. The contact was brief, however, as he moved down, his tongue trailing on the skin from chest to stomach until it reached a shaft throbbing with want and need. With a light smirk, the writer rolled his moist muscle around the erection until its tip was engulfed in his mouth.

The gesture was enough to send electricity down the pianist's spine as he threw his head backwards, crying out Yuri's name in bliss. The dark haired man sucked on the particularly tender flesh, licking and lapping the pre-cum flowing abundantly, loving the taste he was getting out of it. Flynn tasted a bit salty, but there was this lingering sweetness and Yuri could only crave for more.

Bit by bit, he lowered his mouth, swallowing more of his lover's shaft, his tongue twirling expertly around the manhood, knowing every spot that would send the other flying into pleasure. While his mouth was occupied, the long haired man's fingers grabbed the pianist's balls, rubbing them together to maximise the blissfulness he was receiving.

The writer could feel trembling hands grabbing the hair on the top of his head, pulling strongly. Yuri did not mind, knowing that this was the support Flynn kept before he became too far gone. At least, the raven haired male knew that he was doing one heck of a great job. The mere thought was enough to make his own erection quiver with desire. He could sense that his lover would soon be on the verge of coming and it would definitely be good.

But just as the thought crossed his mind, a particularly strong pull of his strands had Yuri pull away. In a last twirl of his tongue, his mouth retired from the shaft in a 'pop'. He looked up to see a panting Flynn staring at him with unending passion and barely enough restraint not to jump at his lover.

"T-that's enough, Yuri," he murmured, out of breath.

It was evident from the tone of his voice and his strained expression that the loss of warmth on his manhood had been a hard blow on him. However, Yuri knew his lover well; Flynn would not want to come until the long haired man received pleasure as equal, if not more. The mere thought made him shiver with expectation, enough to distract him from the fact that he remembered something about his lover without realising it.

"Hmm? I assume you liked my reward," the writer purred sultrily, leaning against the other's chest, their two erections rubbing together in a pleasurable manner.

Both gasped audibly at the contact. Flynn chuckled, shaking his head in discouragement.

"Cheeky bastard," he replied before pulling the dark haired male into a heated kiss.

The pianist took this distraction as an opportunity and switched their positions. Yuri was now lying on the bed, head resting on the pillow, while Flynn was looming over him, deepening their kiss while his fingers expertly roamed on his lover's body. The writer moaned loudly into the kiss, hands reaching for the back of the other's head, grabbing golden locks tightly.

When they pulled apart, the pianist did not take the time to regain his breath, his mouth already ravaging the dark haired man's skin that he was deprived from touching much earlier. He was nibbling and sucking on it, making sure to leave marks that would be invisible to the eye and hidden behind clothes the next day. The blonde still left quite a few hickeys, however, surely to show how he thought Yuri belonged to him. The latter was squirming, making sure to lean into the touch and tilt himself to leave as much space possible for his assailant.

"Yuri, I want you," Flynn whispered after his lips locked briefly with the other's. "I want you so much."

"_I need you, Yuri. Please, don't do this to me!" Flynn cried out with anguish, his features contorted in pain. _

_He took a step forward towards the other man in front of him, but the latter took one back in return, turning his head away. _

_"Yuri, please..."_

Yuri's eyes flew wide open as a hand closed around his manhood, making him moan in delight. He threw his arms around his lover's neck, bringing Flynn close to feel his delicious warmth against his own body. Their lips connected and their tongues engaged another fierce battle until Flynn managed to submit the other. Once they pulled apart, the writer cupped the blonde's face, pressing their foreheads together.

"I want you too, Flynn. I need you inside," he confessed hastily, smiling both seductively and genuinely.

The long haired man gasped when he suddenly felt a finger from the ones massaging his balls wander to his entrance, circling and teasing it. Yuri hummed, his heart beating faster. God, this was getting harder and harder to keep his sanity, what with Flynn taking his sweet time, torturing him even.

"Flynn..." he warned dangerously, trying his best not to sound as though he were begging.

It would be hard to keep the act much longer, however.

"_Flynn..." Yuri growled dangerously, hands on his hips as he stared at the young pianist smiling sheepishly at the former. "Ludwika told me you were supposed to be in bed. What the hell are you doing here?" _

_The smile became a kicked puppy expression as the blonde stared back and forth from Yuri to the piano onto which he was playing a minute ago. _

"_But Yuri, I..."Yuri would not have it, however._

_ He needed to resist that expression, for Flynn's sake. _

"_No buts. Back to bed. _Now!_"_

Yuri purred sweetly when the finger was replaced by something wet – obviously Flynn's tongue. It felt somewhat weird at first, with the way it entered his hole, moistening his inside carefully, but the raven haired male soon found pleasure in the particular sensation. His legs crossed behind the blonde's back, giving him better access and encouraging him. The musician did not need more incitement, his hands on the writer's inner thigh, spreading the latter's legs wider to be more at ease.

Unfortunately, there was so far that wonderful tongue could go. And so when Flynn moved up, licking his lips alluringly before approaching one of his hands to his mouth in order to lap at his fingers, Yuri quickly snatched that hand away with a smirk, bringing it to his own lips. One by one, he popped one finger into his mouth, sucking on them while he hummed loudly, making sure to leave them as wet as possible. From the way the musician was staring, eyes shining with uncontained desire, it was obvious he was liking the show.

"I think it's better to do it like that," Yuri admitted wantonly, his smirk only widening.

"_I think it's better to do it like that," Yuri stated matter-of-factly, staring intently into his father's eyes. _

_The latter was looking unimpressed, arms folded against his chest. It was almost as though he looked down upon his son, to which the long haired male would not be surprised. _

"_Oh really?" the older man suddenly replied with smugness. "Very well then, we will do as you say and see if things work smoother," he taunted with a smirk. _

_Yuri glared at him in return._

_ "It will!"_

A finger penetrated the dark haired male and the latter fidgeted slightly, squirming under the foreign, but not so foreign sensation. It was entering smoothly, but it was still uncomfortable to have it inside. How long had it been, after all, since anything entered him like this?

"Yuri, relax," Flynn gently instructed him from above, lowering his head down to capture his lover's lips as a distraction.

The latter concentrated on the sweetness he could taste, doing his best to ease his body of its tension. It worked after a while and he soon got accustomed to the finger.

Of course, a second was soon added, making him shiver. He panted and closed his eyes tightly as the pianist made scissor movements inside to better stretch him. Thankfully, his body was getting familiar as he relaxed more and more, somewhat enjoying the feeling. A third finger followed suit inside, helping in spreading him wide for what was to come.

And then, a sudden movement had Yuri cry out as he threw his head backwards, hands gripping tightly at the sheets under him. His hips jerked up slightly as pure ecstasy coursed through his body, his manhood throbbing with need. This was... this was the spot! He wanted more, needed more!

_Yuri watched in horror at the scene unfolding before him, too shocked to say anything. He could not believe this was happening, could not believe that everything went so wrong!_

_Laughter echoed behind him and the long haired man squeezed his eyes shut, fury making each of his limbs tremble. His smirking father lowered himself to his ear, whispering in amusement. _

_"Did you really think you could help them? How naive of you," he mocked his son, obviously not caring about how the latter could be feeling. "Still, I should thank you. You helped me quite a lot. Thanks to you, my plan went along smoothly."_

_No... he had been tricked? No! There was no way! _

_What would he do now?_

"Aah! F-Flynn... more...!" Yuri begged without realising it.

He closed his eyes tightly, relishing on the delicious feeling he was receiving. Flynn chuckled.

"Hmm, I seem to have found the right spot," he bragged.

The pianist hit him a second time, making the writer moan loudly as he quivered. Breathing rasped, one of the long haired man's arms shot up and grabbed a handful of golden locks, bringing his lover down in yet another heated kiss.

"You talk too much," Yuri growled with reprimand.

Annoyance briefly flickered in his eyes, before it melted for sweetness and desire.

"I'm ready, Flynn," he whispered, their lips still so close. "I want you inside, I _need _you inside!"

That was too much for the blonde who captured the other's lips passionately. Slowly, Flynn removed his fingers. The whimper escaping the raven haired male's mouth at the loss was muffled by their current encounter.

When they parted, two strong hands caressed down Yuri's sides tenderly, making their way to his buttocks. They lingered there for a short instant, enjoying the smooth feel, before they continued between the writer's legs to his inner thigh. That was when Flynn spread the two limbs, giving him better access while he positioned himself. The tip of his shaft barely touched his lover's entrance, making the dark haired male growl in annoyance.

"Bastard! Stop teasing me already!" he exclaimed with irritation, feeling his own member throbbing almost painfully at being deprived of anything in his begging hole.

Flynn chuckled for a second time, shaking his head almost discouragingly.

"All right, all right," he simply murmured.

Gently, he pushed himself inside, doing his best to take his time and not enter in one go so that Yuri could adjust himself. The latter's back arched up as he gasped, gritting his teeth in pain.

_Yuri gritted his teeth, hissing in pain as Flynn slowly applied alcohol to his wounds. The blonde sighed heavily, discouraged. _

_"Another fight? Yuri, why is it that you always end up in those? Can't you keep yourself out of troubles for once?" _

"_What, don't you know by now that trouble always comes to me?" the long haired male replied with a smirk._

_ However, it slowly melted to a pout when he saw the disapproving glare shot his way. It seemed that Flynn was not sharing his point of view. _

_"Look, it's not that important," Yuri muttered, averting his eyes. _

_The blonde sighed for yet another time before a light smile graced his lips. _

"_And you always shoulder those troubles alone. Emilia told me. You protected her from bullies, right?" _

_Those words did not help Yuri's sulking who stubbornly kept his gaze away. However, he did blush brightly. Flynn chuckled, his hand reaching for the raven haired man's cheek. The musician turned the other's head towards him and kissed him sweetly. _

"_Thanks, Yuri."_

The dark haired male was panting heavily, trying to get accustomed to the new feeling inside himself. Pain was coursing through his body, making him jolt. Worried, Flynn stopped moving completely, leaning down to kiss his lover in an attempt to distract him.

"Are you alright, Yuri?" he asked with concern, to which the writer only smirked.

It was, however, obviously filled with discomfort.

"H-ha! This is nothing," Yuri bragged after a wince from another jerk of pain.

The blonde sighed, shaking his head. He then grabbed the other man into his arms, doing the best he could to ease his lover.

"Just try to relax," he advised.

The long haired man scoffed, somewhat irked because that was easier said than done. Despite that fact, he still did his best loosen his body. After a while, the pain subsided to a dull soreness and Yuri found that staying motionless would not help in any way anymore.

"Move," he requested softly.

Flynn nodded, slowly removing his shaft until only the tip was left inside, before he pushed himself back in. The pianist was panting heavily and groaning with pleasure lacing his voice. Yuri did not have any difficulties imagining that the tightness around his lover's member must be almost too much to bear.

Flynn was very sweet, Yuri would give him that, but he was being too careful and the writer wanted far more than that. He wanted the same spot that made him see stars earlier to be hit strongly. So the raven haired male met his lover halfway, moaning shamelessly at the blissful sensation that ran through his whole being.

"Too slow," he breathed, hoping his voice would be loud enough for the blonde to hear.

The writer thought he heard a chuckle above him, but he soon forgot about it as the musician literally slammed inside him, making Yuri's toes curl in absolute delight.

"Right, how could I forget you like it rough?" Flynn's voice came up, somewhat strained and low, filled with lust and amusement.

He was still restraining himself a little, knowing that if he did not, he would hurt his lover too much.

"_Hmm, so you like it rough? That's interesting," Flynn stated, caressing Yuri's hair. _

_The latter was splayed above the pianist's body, staring at his lover's face with a sleazy grin, his chin resting on the blonde's chest. _

"_And that's not all, I'm feisty too," Yuri purred. "Ready for round two?"_

"Shut up," Yuri whispered with irk.

His words were followed by yet another shameless moan as Flynn rammed the other's spot. The long haired man tightened his hold against his lover, the former's hands in the latter's back, nails sinking in flesh. If the pianist felt any pain at all, he hid it well, his expression only filled with pleasure. The writer hoped for a flicking moment that Flynn did not feel anything at all, because Yuri's nails were sinking deeper as the come-and-go inside him was picked up gradually.

With each hit, Yuri's body was coursed with shivers of excitement and blissful satisfaction. His own voice was getting louder, crying out his lover's name at the same time the blonde did, the latter in a murmur.

"A-ah... Flynn..."

It was getting out of hand. Everything Yuri felt was too wonderful, he could not even think properly anymore. Flynn's pace was quick and merciless now, for the latter must have been blinded by pleasure as well and lost his control by now. The raven haired male was far from complaining. Yuri was on the edge, he could feel it in the pit of his stomach. It was coming soon, even if he wanted this moment to drag on forever.

"F-Flynn, I'm going to..." he was not able to finish his sentence – he could not even comprehend how he even managed to phrase that.

However, his lover seemed to understand anyway; he too was on the verge of his climax.

With one last strong push, the pianist slammed his member dead on Yuri's pleasuring spot, spending himself inside the tight and warm hole while the other did so as well on both their stomachs. The writer threw his head back on the mattress, his hips jerking up. They both saw white as they called out each other's name with unending passion.

"Flynn!"

"_Flynn?"_

_Yuri stared away from the woman a few feet away from him, observing him carefully. She looked rather unimpressed by the raven haired male, but the latter could not care less. As long as she was listening, it would be enough. _

"_I never should've asked him to become mine. I never should've suggested starting such a relationship with him. It was wrong, a mistake!"he exclaimed frustratingly, his hand balled up above his forehead, gripping tightly at his hair._

"_It would be best if Flynn disappeared from my life. I wish I could forget everything that happened."_

Flynn collapsed against Yuri, both panting heavily, huge grins plastered on their faces. They stayed in place for a while, simply enjoying the aftermath of their heated embrace. Soon, however, the blonde slowly pulled himself out of his lover, chuckling at the almost silent whine the latter made, disappointed to have lost their connection. The musician kissed the long haired man on his forehead, bringing the latter closer into his arms, in a tight, securing and loving hug. Yuri only scooted closer, closing his eyes as he revelled in the warmth.

The raven haired male noticed how his lover's eyes were drooping continuously, the blonde attempting to stay awake, surely to enjoy a bit more of the moment's sweetness. The writer smiled gently, cupping the other's cheek.

"You're tired," Yuri stated in a low and gentle voice. "Go to sleep. We'll both be here tomorrow morning."

Disappointment flickered in Flynn's eyes, although he smiled and nodded gratefully. His energy was completely spent.

"I love you, Yuri," the pianist murmured with tenderness as he closed his eyes.

The other man smiled.

"_I love you, Yuri! So you will explain to me what's going on! I refuse to believe a word you're saying until you give me suitable answers!" Flynn cried out, his whole body shaking as he pinned his lover against the wall while biting back the tears threatening to spill from the corner of his eyes._

_ Fright and incomprehension lied behind those deep blue irises, but they were buried under anger and hurt. Despite those swirling emotions, it left Yuri unwavering._

"_There would be no point in explaining, Flynn. You know it and you already understand that it's useless for you to say anything. I won't change my mind," the dark haired male replied coldly, staring haughtily at the distressed blonde in front of him, as though the strong hold on the former's wrists was not bothering nor hurting him. "Besides, why are you so upset? You already made your decision, haven't you? You're going away from Poland, you're throwing away everything you have for the good of your career; including me. So what's wrong in me saying this? I'm only doing what you would have done," Yuri chuckled mirthlessly. _

_A gasp erupted from the blonde's lips, the hurt more present than ever. _

_"Bastard!" he growled, pinning the other man harder against the wall. "How dare you judge so easily what I would've done without me saying a word about it? I would've asked you to come with me, Yuri! I love you too much to leave you behind!" Flynn confessed, hoping to get through to the long haired man's._

_The latter only averted his gaze, neutrality splayed above his features. _

_"It's over, Flynn."_

_ And then he closed his eyes, ignoring the tears he just saw flowing freely on the blonde's cheeks._

"Yeah, I love you too," Yuri answered as he caressed the golden locks at the base of Flynn's neck, knowing that the latter must not have heard it for he was already deeply asleep.

* * *

"_It's over, Flynn."_

Yuri awoke with a start, gasping for air as his eyes flew open. For a short while, he was left disorientated, confused about the foreign ceiling above him. Panic seeped into his heart as he wondered where the hell he was and why he could not remember the reason he was here.

But then, a soft mumble next to him had him turn his head to the source and the long haired man soon realised he was comfortably tucked in Flynn's arms in a warm bed. The writer's incoherent state melted as events of the previous days came back to him, reminding him that he was in Vienna with the pianist for the latter's concerts. The two were currently in a hotel and just made love not long ago.

A smile graced Yuri's lips as he sighed in relief. His hand slowly reached for the blonde strands that he caressed lightly, not wanting to wake his lover when he was so exhausted. Flashes of their sweet embrace passed through the raven haired male's eyes, enjoying recalling the numerous faces the musician made while being pleasured and pleasuring Yuri.

However, the more the writer remembered, the more images invaded his mind, some that had nothing to do with their previous love making. Those images were vague, but the dark haired man knew that he saw them vividly only a few hours ago. He attempted grasping them, wanting to know what it was he saw, but a sharp pain in his head made him wince.

It seemed that he would not get to have those particular memories tonight. But it did make the writer wonder why his mind refused to enlighten him. It was as though a defence mechanism was used to prevent him from recalling anything at all – or at least, most of it. It frustrated Yuri, but also made him question his resolve of remembering everything. Was it even a good idea? Was there not a reason why he could not?

Another glance at Flynn made the long haired man's insides twist painfully. Somehow, Yuri had a deep feeling that it was because of his lover, because the former might have done something very bad to the latter. The writer's mind was protecting him from his wrong deeds.

Scooting closer to the blonde, Yuri inhaled his lover's scent, as though engraving it in his mind. It was indeed so very familiar, a fragrance he knew from so long ago. It was one that he always loved and cherished, one that made him feel like he was at home. The raven haired male wanted to protect everything about Flynn, make sure that he could be happy and that things could stay as they were now. But if Yuri learned his past, surely their world would shatter, the pianist's the most.

Maybe, in the end, it would be best to be kept in the dark. For both their sakes.

* * *

The following month was not so different from the first days of their arrival in Vienna. Concerts were given every few days until, at some point, the pianist's shows went sold out and the latter was obligated to make recitals each day to make sure to respond to people's demands of seeing him. He also was interviewed quite some times, adding to his popularity. He was even offered to stay in Vienna, but Flynn politely declined, saying that Paris was his home and he would not trade it for the world.

At last, the month came to an end and it was time for the two lovers to go back in France. The trip back home was harder on the blonde who was simply exhausted after the month he spent. He tried sleeping in the calash, but it was a lost cause because of the discomfort he was feeling whenever he attempted to settle himself in a nice position. Yuri proposed himself as a pillow at some point, which Flynn gladly accepted, but even when the pianist placed his head on the other's lap and managed to sleep a little, it was still not restful. It was not a comfortable bed as he much needed, after all.

The night they spent in a hotel during the middle of their travelling somewhat helped, but it was far from enough. When they finally reached their destination, Yuri recognising Paris' streets as he gazed outside the window, Flynn was almost as white as a ghost and his breathing was shallow. Sweat was breaking on his forehead as the writer helped him out of the coach while the coachman took care of their luggage, which the long haired man was grateful for.

Once they were inside, they thanked the coachman who put their luggage near the entrance before he left the house. By then, Yuri guided the pianist to his bed where he helped him change. The long haired male then tucked his lover under the covers, before proceeding to fetch a cold moisten cloth as well as hot packs, knowing that the blonde would need them soon enough. The writer could already distinguish the other's breathing getting wheezy, after all. It was a matter of time before Flynn sunk deeper into his illness.

Once the musician was settled comfortably, the only thing left to do for Yuri was to pray that it would at least only be temporary. He sat on the bed, caressing the blonde locks splayed on the pillow, Flynn laying into the touch.

"You'll stay here, tonight, won't you?" he asked in a murmur, to which Yuri rolled his eyes.

Flynn should not feel the need to ask that question anymore. Of course Yuri would stay.

"Yeah, I'll be in that chair here all night. Don't you worry about it and rest," the writer advised.

Blue eyes narrowed and lips were pursed as the pianist stared at his lover.

"You should come in the bed, it'll be more comfortable. I don't want you getting a stiff neck by sleeping in the chair."

The long haired male shook his head with a smile, leaning down to lay a kiss on the other's forehead.

"I'll be fine. It'll be best for you to sleep alone, with that sickness of yours. Just rest already, so that you can get better."

Flynn sighed rather loudly, but he did not fuel the argument. Instead, he closed his eyes and evened his breathing and, for a while, Yuri was certain that the blonde was finally asleep. He was surprised when the musician spoke up once more.

"Hmm, Yuri? Do you think Franz will know I'm back?"

Well, that was out of the blue. Yuri had to admit that he was a bit annoyed by the question as well. Why should he care if Liszt knew they were back or not? The raven haired male lightly shook his head. He needed to be conciliating with this. He needed to understand that the brown haired pianist was an important friend to his lover... even if that man could be dangerous. Yuri had no proofs, after all and, besides, Liszt had already proved that Flynn was his top priority.

"I don't know. Maybe. I'm sure he'll pop up tomorrow morning, because he'll have come every day since he heard you were gone," the writer answered with a shrug, to which the blonde chuckled.

"You're definitely right. Though I'm not too sure if I'll be there tomorrow morning. Maybe I'll go to the clinic, I'm not certain." Yuri frowned with worry.

Was Flynn feeling that bad? It was rare for him to say that he would go directly see the doctor. The musician was not one to initiate these kinds of things unless he really needed to.

"I'll accompany you, then," the raven haired male stated.

The blue eyed pianist shook his head, closing his eyes.

"No need, I'll be fine by myself. Could you stay here instead, in case Franz comes up? I don't want him to think that I still haven't arrived."

Yuri was well tempted to growl at that, not wanting to do such a job, but he settled for a pout his lover could not see and sighed softly, agreeing.

"Besides, I'm not sure I'll be going in the morning. I might decide to sleep in and go in the afternoon," Flynn added.

The dark haired male silently nodded as he watched the blonde finally getting to sleep. He really hoped that Flynn had nothing serious, but really, who could he fool?

* * *

The next morning, a knock resounded from the entrance and Yuri was the one to answer. As he opened the door, however, his face scrunched in annoyance and he was well tempted to close it. He was not given the time, for the person on the other side was already moving forward, getting inside the house without much of an invitation.

"Is Frederic here?" Liszt cut right through the chase.

Yuri could discern all the hatred that was meant for him, but the brown haired man was obviously containing it since Flynn could well be around.

Yuri pursed his lips, keeping quiet for a few seconds before he sighed.

"He went to the clinic to see the doctor. He was not feeling well this morning. He should be back in half-an-hour or so," the writer revealed half-heartedly, sighing.

He took a couple of steps backward, wanting to put some distance between the two as Liszt removed his gloves, entering further into the entrance. It seemed he had no intention of leaving until Flynn would get back, which irritated Yuri to no end. However, he knew that it would be no use to try and get the pianist out of the house.

"Hmph! It's really too bad you've come back with Frederic. It would have been better if you got lost and were left behind," Liszt told with disdain as he took off his coat and hung it to the peg along with his hat, ignoring the glare he was receiving from the raven haired male.

Nonetheless, a smirk soon appeared on the latter's lips.

"And it seems that you've been coming here every day, otherwise you wouldn't know we're back. Just like a pitiful puppy abandoned by its master. How did it feel?" Yuri taunted, sneering at the now ticked off expression on the pianist's face.

It was nice to know that the writer was superior to Liszt in so many ways now.

"I imagine this was your doing?" the brunette seethed haughtily, already walking towards the study.

Yuri followed him quickly, a scowl on his face. He did not want that hateful man doing as he pleased in the house while Flynn was not aware he was here.

"There is no way he would have agreed to leave without telling me himself otherwise," Liszt finished angrily, reaching the room he was heading for.

He took a seat on one of the armchairs and Yuri breathed a silent sigh of relief. The long haired man hated it when the other played on the blonde's instrument.

"Hmm... half of it," the dark haired male answered nonchalantly as he sat on the piano's bench, making sure to protect this spot. "He was the one to suggest we should travel for a while since _someone_ wanted to kill me."

Yuri made sure to accentuate the word, wanting his point to get across: he _knew _that Liszt was behind this.

"I only made him realise that his plan would work only if he was not the one to tell. We couldn't risk someone following us, now, could we?"

The pianist's eyes narrowed dangerously, but his composure was still intact. That was not good; Yuri needed to draw the truth out of that man today. It would be his only occasion, he was certain of it.

"You do realise that this is your fault if he had to go into hiding like that? Do you even realise how you make him suffer? He goes through such lengths because of you when he should let you deal with your problems alone! You make me sick and you should start feeling the same. Because of you, Frederic had to make a trip that his health did not permit!"

Yuri winced inwardly at the other man's words, knowing that there was much truth into them. He knew that it was partially his fault if Flynn was in this state right now. He knew that if he had not involved the blonde into his stories, the latter would certainly be feeling much better. But for now, the writer could not let such judgment cloud his thinking. He knew he would deal with that part later, make it up to his lover another time. Right now, the only thing important was to make Liszt admit everything.

"Hmm? My fault? I didn't ask to be chased by a murderer and I'm doing the best I can to protect him," the long haired man said.

"Protect him? A poor job you're doing! Don't make me laugh," the brunette all but spat ruthlessly.

The other man scowled.

"I admit things have gone badly with Lefevre, considering I didn't count on the fact Flynn would be stubborn and strong enough to push me aside. But Lefevre, apparently, is now dead, and I wouldn't do the same mistake as before. Besides, the murderer currently on my heels actually wouldn't hurt Flynn at all. After all, the last time we met, he did mention not killing me because Flynn was with me. Strange, don't you think? What kind of murderer would make sure not to kill its prey for someone else's wellbeing?"

Maybe it would have been best for Liszt if Devereaux had not revealed so much the last time he and the writer met.

"And considering I know for a fact that Devereaux is hired by someone, I'm wondering who in the world could order him not to hurt Flynn in any way; could value his life and sanity that much."

Even though it was barely noticeable, Liszt was growing rigid, his hands clutching the armrests tightly.

"What are you trying to get at, Lowell?"

Oh? If Liszt was dropping the formalities, then Yuri was on a good path. He just needed to push the musician a little more; this would give the writer what he would need.

"The list of Flynn's very close and dear friends is short, Liszt. It's even shorter when we have to think that that person would know how close Flynn and I are, and that they hate that closeness. I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if that's the main reason why I'm being targeted."

Yuri leaned a little backward, eyes still gauging the other's reaction.

"Actually, I'd be willing to bet no one cares for Flynn enough to order a killer not to do anything that would go against his wellbeing but you," the raven haired male accused nonchalantly, certain of himself. "Besides, the last time we were alone like this, you made quite the mistake. You left my notebook open when I knew for certain that I closed it. Conveniently enough, murders started not too long after that. Somehow, I doubt there could be coincidences between the two events."

The rigidity in the brown haired man melted into certainty, a smirk playing on his lips. That was not exactly how Yuri had hoped the pianist would react, but he also came to expect such behaviour.

"That is quite the accusation you have there, Mr. Sand. What proofs, exactly, do you have? Ones, of course, that are more than speculations."

Of course, the writer had none. The brunette played too well in this game to leave behind anything that would incriminate him. Besides, someone else was doing the dirty job for him, so of course it would be harder to locate the person who started this whole mess.

"None, unfortunately. The only hints I have are the notebook and the fact that four out of five murders, Flynn was with you," Yuri declared, not showing how it left him a little bothered.

The musician raised an eyebrow cockily, now obviously amused.

"Then you do realise that I could easily sew you for such accusations, George," Liszt finished, eyes gleaming evilly.

He was once more comfortable with the situation, if the way he called Yuri was any indication. Yuri could also read in the other's face how it would be a piece of cake for the musician to crush the writer in the way the former spoke of. It was evident that the long haired male would not be able to get the brown haired man to reveal anything with mere speculations.

Not that he expected to.

"Hmm..." he chanted lightheartedly, a smirk playing on his lips.

He too was confident with how things were going.

"I don't believe Flynn would let you do that, however."

A scowl lightly creased the pianist's forehead out of displease at those words.

"Speaking of which, I realise I haven't thanked you yet," Yuri stated, the smugness on his features increasing.

It seemed he would have no choice but to use his trump card, and he knew almost for certain that, this time, it would work in his favour.

Liszt narrowed his eyes warily. He could not fathom as to why the man he hated could thank him.

"And what for, exactly?"

Yuri's hands rested on the edge of the bench below him, his arms locked to support his weight. He kept playing his nonchalant attitude, though he was feeling it a little for real this time.

"If it hadn't been for your little lie about having a thing going on between you and Flynn, I somehow doubt I would have realised what I felt towards him," the writer explained. "Thanks to you, I asked him for the truth and learned that he saw you as nothing but a good friend. He and I are now together."

As the raven haired male spoke, the pianist's eyes grew wide and his cheeks reddened with fury. His body was shaking all over as he gripped at the armchair tighter, boiling inside.

"You're lying!" Liszt denied in a spat.

Yuri chuckled darkly, staring haughtily at the man getting consumed by his strong emotions of rage.

"Then ask Flynn when he comes back! I'm certain he'll tell you the same thing gladly."

This should be enough; this should entice that damn man to act.

Before the long haired man could react, the brunette was suddenly up, hands grabbing the writer's neck and throttling it. In a violent movement, the brunette brought the other's head down and slammed it against the piano bench, before proceeding in strangling Yuri more strongly. The blow was enough to make the dark haired man see stars as he coughed and gasped for air he was deprived of. One of the latter's hands reached for the ones strangulating him, trying to loosen their hold as dark spots began appearing in his vision.

"I don't believe you," Liszt seethed furiously in a low tone. "And even if it were true, it only proves that you've become too close to my Frederic!"

Yuri coughed harder, his face turning red and blue at the same time. His heart was racing in his chest as he started panicking. He needed to make as much noise as possible and fast! His hand on his neck left their position to knock the keys just above, drawing their sound loudly into cacophony. Then, he made sure to slowly slip from the bench, bringing the object down in his fall. It crashed in a noisy bang while the air was knocked out of the raven haired male who collided with the ground. Unfortunately, it did not help the other above to loosen his hold.

"You are nothing but a nuisance, ever since the beginning! Frederic is supposed to be mine and mine alone!" Liszt cried out, teeth gritted, a glint of madness in his brown irises.

He did not hear the steps coming towards the study, too engrossed in what he was doing.

"It seems you also have a lead against me. I cannot allow that, unfortunately. I wanted to get rid of your bothersome existence for Frederic's wellbeing and I will do so gladly right now!"

He laughed darkly, enjoying how Yuri was slowly losing consciousness below.

The latter would not hold out much longer. Did he not make enough noise? At this rate, he would have to... oh, but wait!

"It'll be easy," Liszt continued. "I'll tell Frederic that you've been attacked by the murderer who broke in and that I found you lying there, already too far gone to be saved. And then, I'll finally be able to make him mine!"

"_NO!_"

The next moment, Liszt was kicked away from Yuri and the former collided with the wall near him in a yelp. The writer was finally able to inhale deep gulps of air as arms wrapped tenderly around him, taking him into a protective embrace. Trembling, the long haired man leaned his head against the newcomer's steady chest.

"Yuri, are you all right?" Flynn asked with worry as he examined the man below him who was slowly, but surely, regaining normal colors on his face.

"Y-yeah," Yuri answered, voice hoarse from the bad treatment his throat received.

The blonde continued checking on his lover, feeling the other's neck to make sure that not much damage had been done.

"W-what? F-Frederic? Weren't you at the clinic?" Liszt asked, bewildered.

He was staring straight at his friend, unable to comprehend why Flynn was in the house and certainly less why the brown haired musician had been kicked so ruthlessly.

The raven haired male chuckled amusingly despite the constant coughing. He tilted his head to be able to gaze at the shocked pianist.

"Ah, sorry, that was a lie. I knew that the only way for you to reveal your true self to Flynn was if you thought he was not there. Flynn was actually sleeping all along in his room," Yuri revealed with a proud smirk, angering the brunette.

The former then turned his head to his lover.

"Sorry, by the way, for waking you like that. I know you need to rest as much as possible," he apologized, to which the blonde shook his head.

Flynn gave a soft, saddened smile to the other in his arms before his features hardened as he glared furiously at the person he once called a friend.

"Get out, Franz," the blonde pianist ordered in a harsh tone, not leaving place to any discussion.

It was not enough to impress Liszt, however, who jumped to his feet, fists clenched tightly.

"You mean to tell me that he's more important than I am?!" the brunette demanded, hurt evident in his tone despite the fact he tried to hide it.

Flynn did not flinch, dead set on making the man exit his house.

"You tried to murder him!" Flynn exclaimed, pressing Yuri just a little more tighter against him.

The writer could feel his lover's body shaking slightly, hear his heart beat irregularly, sense his shallow breathing on his neck... Maybe it had been a bad idea to reveal all of this to the blonde today. Yuri was not sure anymore if the pianist could take it with his health more fragile than ever.

The long haired man glared at his assailant.

"Flynn told you to get out," he reminded, to which he was given a snarl.

"Shut up!" the brown haired musician snapped at his interlocutor before returning his attention on the blue eyed male. "I only attempted to rid you of the hindrance that man was to you! Do you even realise how much you suffered because of him?! I've never put you through such pain before and I never would have! I would've taken care of you, make sure that you were always happy! We live in the same world, have the same passions; we were meant for each other! You were certainly not supposed to fall in love with a man who only brought you danger and suffering!"

Flynn opened his mouth to retaliate, but Liszt never gave him time to as he kept talking, certainly knowing what his friend was about to say.

"And I'm not only talking about the murders! The first time we met, you were a mess, Frederic. Your eyes and face betrayed the deep scars inside your body. You never really talked about it, but when _that man_ entered your life again, when I saw the way you looked at him, I knew that he was the one who did that to you. So why? Why did you give him a second chance he obviously did not deserve? How could you?"

As he listened to the speech, Yuri's face faltered while his heart sank. He made Flynn suffer that much? Why did he ever do such a cruel thing? Was it the reason why his mind refused to give him back his memories? It would also explain Flynn's reluctance at revealing everything.

In his dumbfounded state, the writer failed to notice his lover standing up, infuriated.

"You do not have the right to speak of anything unless you know of the truth, Franz!" the blonde barked. "And you were never more than a very dear friend to me, Franz. I never held any special feelings towards you. It seems, however, that you decided to destroy my trust in you. You speak of never making me go through pain, but the way you almost put an end to Yuri's life today was more suffering than you could ever have imagined."

Realising that their relationship was in jeopardy, Liszt opened and closed his mouth, thinking of anything to say to make amend, but coming up empty in the end.

Flynn's expression was dark and unsympathetic.

"I am not to associate with a murderer, Franz. Our friendship is over. Now get out."

The brown haired pianist completely broke, his features twisting in agony at the turn of events. Clenching his teeth, his eyes full of sorrow hardened as they lay on the still recovering man.

"Do not think this is the last you'll hear of me, Lowell," he seethed through his teeth.

However, the step Flynn took towards him had him rethink his actions.

"You are warned, Franz. Get out now! I am not taking you to the police myself out of the friendship I once held for you, but if you dare threaten Yuri again, I will not hesitate to bring you down!"

A crestfallen expression replaced the hatred on Liszt's face, but it was not enough to make the blonde falter in his words. Knowing that there was nothing he could do anymore, the brown haired pianist turned on his heels and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him. He would not be welcomed ever again[1].

Yuri watched his assailant disappear from the room before looking back at Flynn's back. The dark haired male could not see his lover's expression and the former was getting worried. The blue eyed musician may have acted tough, but Yuri knew that, deep down, it had been too strong a blow. Feeling that he would be able to stand up and keep some sort of balance, the pain in the back of his head reduced to a mild throb, Yuri did as such, taking a few steps towards the other man.

The writer placed a gentle hand on Flynn's shoulder and immediately sensed how violently the latter was trembling. Frowning in concern, the raven haired male leaned down, examining his lover's face. The former's anxiety only increased when he saw how white as a ghost the other looked like, almost ashen gray even. This was not good. In a few moments, Flynn would obviously collapse.

"Hey, come on, let's get you to bed," Yuri probed gently, grabbing the other's shoulders to guide him to his bed.

Instead of following, however, the blonde merely turned his head to the writer, staring at the latter with blue eyes filled with sorrow and betrayal. Yuri gasped softly, guilt twisting his insides at the sight. This had been a bad idea; he should never have shown this to his lover – at least not when he was so weak.

"Yuri..." Flynn voiced out barely audibly, his voice laced with anguish and asking for comfort he so much needed.

Before Yuri could grant it to him, however, the pianist's hand flew to his mouth as he violently began coughing. He doubled over, eyes wide at the pain of the sheer force of his hacking. He almost collapsed, but the long haired male caught him just in time and helped him on his knees. By then, the writer leaned his lover against his chest in support, the only thing he could truly do in that kind of situation. It was horrible how Yuri was feeling powerless, but he knew nothing of the illness plaguing the other.

Panic slowly started to creep into his heart as the other's coughing far from stopped; instead, it was getting worse, louder, stronger... Flynn barely got to breath between his fits and his face was turning the very same colour Yuri's was minutes ago. At this rate, the pianist would lose consciousness!

But in the end, the blonde finally was able to rest as his body calmed down, leaving him exhausted. Breathing irregularly, Flynn finally removed his hand from his mouth and collapsed weakly against Yuri who caught him in a steady embrace. That was when the dark haired male noticed something very wrong with his lover. His lips were far more crimson than usual. Dreading what this could mean, the writer grabbed the hand that fell to the musician's side and slowly turned it so that Yuri could see the palm. When his eyes fell onto a stain as crimson, his eyes widened with horror.

"Blood?" he whispered with dismay.

Flynn chuckled mirthlessly as he heard, scooting closer to Yuri.

"It's... starting, isn't it? Like... Emilia," the blonde breathed, agony lacing his tone.

Flynn was no fool, and neither was Yuri. The latter understood the impact of his lover's words, his mind recalling easily how the young girl's sickness began. It was not so different from this. It started with coughing up blood before life slowly seeped away from the body. Maybe it was not the case, they could not know for certain until a doctor examined the pianist, but they did not dare relish into illusions that would only crush them both right after.

Flynn was plagued with consumption.

* * *

[1] Something truly did happen between Liszt and Chopin to ruin their friendship, but not this way, lol. Actually, Liszt did have a key to Chopin's house. One day, Chopin found out tha Liszt was bringing women in the former's house and they were doing... well I'll let you guess that. Obviously, they had a fight and Chopin never wanted to see Liszt again after that.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm pretty certain a few of you saw that one coming, considering Chopin's history. At least, the story's not over yet. I mean, you don't even know what happened with Yuri yet xD There's approximatively three chapters left~

And by the way, _never again_ am I going to write a scene like the first one. _Never. Again. (_Oh dear, that just made me recall_The woman in black_... *shivers*)I can't even tell you how long that took! My brain always went blank whenever I tried to write anything. And dammit all, I feel like it's clinical and cold, without much emotions in it! I swear I've never been good at this, and certainly never will *sigh*. For the ones following our other story, don't wonder who's going to write such a scene. You know Rose's awesome at this.

Anyways, thoughts, feelings, impressions? I'd like to hear them all! :D

See you in the next chapter!


	8. Eighth movement

**A/N:** And here we finally are with chapter 8! Good to know I'm not that bad with the posting these times around :) It hasn't even been a month yet~!

Well, I'm pretty sure you're dying to know what's going to happen now (sorry for the bad pun .). So without further ado, here's chapter 8.

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, I don't own Flynn and Yuri. They belong to Namco. Other historical characters are tweaked by me.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Eighth movement**

The distinctive sound of the ticking clock on the wall was the only noise reaching Yuri's ears. The latter was currently sitting on the floor in the hallway next to Flynn's room, knees gathered to his chest, hands balled into fists – so tight that his knuckles were as white as a sheet – that were brought to his forehead. His teeth were clenched painfully so, preventing any distressed whimpers from coming out of his throat. If he showed any signs of weakness now, the long haired man did not know if he would be able to withstand breaking down.

The oppressing silence except for the clock was driving the writer mad. It was dragging on and on, indicating the time the doctor was spending inside the pianist's room. The more Yuri had to wait, the more he panicked, unable to stop thinking what he dreaded the most.

Flynn was dying.

Even if he wanted to deny it, the dark haired male could not fool himself. Besides, with the way he and the doctor found the blonde when they arrived at the house – Yuri having installed his lover in his bed before quickly departing – it would be disillusioned thinking to believe otherwise: Flynn had been coughing and chocking violently on his blood as they stepped inside his room, wide crimson stains already dirtying his white sheets.

The mere sight had been enough to freeze Yuri on the spot for a brief time before his brain registered that he needed to act now. However, as he started dashing towards his lover, the other man stopped him and bade him to leave. Before the writer even knew it, he was pushed outside, was told to go calm himself and the door was closed behind him.

The raven haired male was furious when he realised that. How the hell could he calm himself when his lover was obviously coughing his life away? How dare that man separate them when Flynn surely needed Yuri the most right now?

Despite his anger, the writer did not knock on the door nor did he try to slip inside the room. He understood that the doctor needed the space and a panicking Yuri was surely not what was best to concentrate on his work. So the long haired male simply settled with sliding against the wall until he was in a sitting position, waiting until he would be allowed to go back inside.

It took so long. After an hour – which seemed to be days, with how stressed the writer was – there were still no signs at all. It was only after an hour and a half that the door next to him finally opened, revealing a grim looking doctor who stopped in his track once he spotted Yuri. The latter felt his heart leap in his throat, sickeningly so, as he stood up. His pulse was pounding so loudly in his ears that he thought he would not hear a word the other man would utter once the latter spoke up.

The doctor had obviously sensed the question that died to leave the raven haired male's lips, but that he was unable to utter for some reason: _how is he?_

"He's resting for now, attempting to sleep."

The fact that the doctor did not add anything else only increased the writer's anxiety.

"What's going on with him? Is he going to be all right?" Yuri pressed, wanting answers and, mostly, wanting reassurance.

Flynn would be fine. There was no way he could really die, right? The doctor surely had a way to heal him!

However, the way the other man avoided the writer's eyes briefly before staring straight at the latter with unswayable seriousness only brought the long haired man towards despair.

"Judging from the fact that Mr. Chopin already knew what was plaguing him, I assume that it is the same for you. Yes, it is indeed consumption, Mr. Lowell."

Yuri wanted to be sick. He was becoming paler and paler every passing second and the urgent need to empty his stomach was becoming rather strong.

"And I'm sorry to say this, but consumption is not an illness I can heal. No remedies have been found as of yet. All I can do is provide him with ways to attenuate the pain."

A mere gasp escaped the writer's lips before he muffled it with a hand clasping his mouth while he collapsed against the wall. This was not possible. It could not be possible! Fate could not be so cruel that it would tear away his lover the moment Yuri remembered him, right?

This was unfair, completely unfair! Flynn never asked for this. He was a gentle and loving person, always embracing life and giving joy around himself with his music. He always did things right, always thought of others above himself, always made sure that everyone could be happy. He was working hard every single day with the thing he loved most in order to make sure to share it around with the people he cherished.

Where was the wrong in all of this? What had Flynn done that Fate would absolutely want to take him back? Why was it that the pianist had to suffer greatly and, in the end, lose his life?

Tears threatened to drip from the corner of his eyes and stain his cheeks, so Yuri hid his expression from the doctor with his bangs.

"There really is nothing we can do?" he whispered with a strained voice.

The other man shook his head apologetically.

"No, I'm sorry."

"How long?"

"I'm sorry?"

Yuri snapped his head up, shaking all over in deep irritation.

"How long does he have left? How long will I be able to spend time with him? How long before he..."

His voice broke, but the writer bit back the sobs as he closed his eyes tightly. He did not want to say it out loud, as though in fear that it might bring his lover's demise far sooner than it should.

"I don't know, it depends. It could take six months, maybe a year, depending on how his body is able to fight this illness. It's not something I can determine so easily."

Useless. That man was utterly useless! Why did Flynn go see him all the time? Maybe it was because of that man's incompetence that the pianist was how he was today. If the blonde had gone to another doctor, maybe he would be feeling better by now! That doctor could never get rid of Flynn's breathing problems when he said he could. Surely if Yuri went to see someone else, they could give him other answers, tell him that Flynn would be all right with the right medicines.

That was obviously only the grief and anger speaking. In the end, the only thing Yuri was able to do was nod at the answer he received, hiding his expression once more, trying his very best to suppress the tears. The doctor remained unmoving for a while longer, before he finally turned around.

"Come get me if his condition worsens," he merely stated before stepping away, exiting the house, leaving the writer completely alone with his thoughts.

The raven haired male wanted to hit the wall next to him and scream. He wanted to yell his despair and howl his pain. As much as he wanted to, however, he could not. If he did, Flynn would hear him and that would immediately bring him stress; something his body did not need at all. Besides, the pianist must already be in a real mess. He was the one, after all, who was going to die. He must be so scared, unable to know how much pain he would have to go through until his days would finally end.

Yuri chocked a sob, gritting his teeth, shutting his eyes tightly. He needed to pull himself together. Flynn needed him. There was no way that the writer would show any weakness; he was the one who had to be strong, for his lover's sake.

It took him a few minutes of inhaling and exhaling deeply until he was almost certain that he would not be hypersensitive when he would enter the room. His mask was slipped on carefully, without any cracks. Judging himself ready, he opened the door next to him and slipped inside. The bedroom felt stuffy and Yuri was unsure if it was the atmosphere or the ambient air.

He saw absent-mindedly that the stained covers had been ripped from the bed and placed in a corner of the room to be washed. He would need to wash them soon. But for now, he needed to concentrate on Flynn. Yuri spotted his lover's frail form tucked under clean covers, eyes closed. They opened slowly, however, when the pianist heard the quiet footsteps coming his way and he looked up at the dark haired male who sat next to him on the mattress.

"Yuri..."

Everything was swimming painfully inside Flynn's eyes: hurt, fright, sadness, sorrow, anger, regret... The latter was not even trying to hide it at this point. The mere sight was enough to tear apart Yuri's heart that it took everything not to look away in shame: shame that he was unable to do a thing, shame that he was as scared when he should be so very strong at the moment, and mostly, shame that he was unable to utter a single word.

He did try, opening his mouth and closing it, attempting to let anything out, as long as it would be comforting. However, nothing ever did and, besides, maybe what he would have had to say would have been pointless at this point.

A soft, forced laugh erupted, tearing the writer from his reverie.

"I- I'm dying..." Flynn stated, voice trembling, indicating he was on the verge of crying. "Not that I didn't know already, I just can't believe I thought I could survive some way or another," he added with false nonchalance. "How stupid of me. I just... hoped..."

That was when his voice finally failed him and he broke down entirely, tears flowing freely out of the corner of his eyes. Yuri acted immediately, his brain coming up with something at last, and he gathered the musician in his arms, pressing the latter's head against his chest in the most comforting embrace he could muster.

Hearing the chocked sobs was heart wrenching, and soon, the long haired man found himself crying alongside his lover, though silently. This was really unfair. Flynn was frightened and depressed, and there was absolutely nothing Yuri could do. The writer would have to watch the blonde suffer until it was too unbearable that the latter would draw his last breath, all too soon. Why did life decided to tear them apart so cruelly? Could there not be some kind of miracle?

Believing so would be pointless and would only hurt more in the end. And so Yuri could only settle for the words he uttered next in his shaking voice.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, closing his eyes. "I'm so, so sorry. I can't do a thing. I'm powerless, useless. You're hurting, you're on the verge of... of..."

He could not even bring himself to say it. "And I can't even help you in the slightest." The dark haired male was startled by a soft and warm hand touching his cheek, fingers brushing his skin. Lowering his eyes, he was met by two sapphires shining brightly with a conviction overpowering every other painful emotion.

"You're wrong," Flynn declared, unwavering. "You're wrong, Yuri. You already do so much for me. You came back. You're by my side. I know for a fact that you'd do everything you could to help if it was in your power. All of this is more than enough for me. Don't put yourself so down."

Yuri closed his eyes tightly, berating himself violently in his head. Why was he the one getting comforted? This was wrong, so wrong. He needed to be strong, to be a pillar on which Flynn could lean all he wanted, a shoulder to support and an ear to listen to everything without flinching.

Determination replaced uncertainty and the long haired man squeezed his lover just a little more tightly.

"You're right. I'm here and I'll always be here. I... don't know what happened, but I promise I won't leave you anymore and I sure as hell won't hurt you anymore. I'm sorry for everything I've done and I'll make sure to mend for it a thousand times more."

"I love you, Flynn."

Those three words were enough for Flynn's tears to flow once more. He was dumbfounded, but it only lasted a few seconds before all the love he felt transpired through him as he wrapped his arms around the writer's neck and buried his face in its crook. This was... this was too much. The blonde dreamed to hear those words again.

Of course, he knew that Yuri had loved him back during the last month, but the fact that Flynn never heard him say it out loud always left the pianist with worries. Would he go away again? Would he leave him? Now, however, the musician was left with only certainty and it relieved him so much. He was so happy to finally know how Yuri truly felt!

And it would be snatched from him in the short time that was left to him. The soft cries that were at first of happiness soon turned despaired as he clutched his lover's shirt tightly.

"You're back. You're finally back and I'm going to die!"

This time, the pianist wailed his grief and anguish, crying to the top of his lungs, too tired to feel too conscious or ashamed anymore. He needed this, needed to let all the hurt go while he was in his lover's warm embrace.

Yuri held him tight, shutting his eyes not to cry as well this time. He felt so guilty, knowing that he came back almost too late and cursing himself for it, but he did not word a thing on it, knowing it was not the time. He would merely hold the blonde and run his hand up and down in the latter's back in soothing motions. He did so even after his lover cried himself to sleep, wanting to make sure that Flynn would at least get a peaceful slumber despite all the pain and sadness.

Then, the raven haired male gently tucked his lover under the covers before he went to get a chair so that he could watch over Flynn all night. Yuri sat right after leaving a kiss on the blonde's warm forehead.

"I'm sorry for being so late. But my love for you really is genuine, despite everything that might've happen before."

* * *

"I'm feeling better, Yuri. I can walk around just fine, I'm sure of it. I just want to go play for a bit."

Yuri sighed at the statement, running his fingers gently across his lover's cheekbone in a fleeting caress, watching the dark circles under the latter's eyes. Flynn looked dead tired, maybe even ready to collapse any time soon. However, it was also the truth that he no longer coughed blood since the doctor came a few days ago. It was also very apparent in the pianist's features how he needed to confide in his instrument, eyes shining with both determination and desperation. Yuri could not deny him that, not with everything that happened. In the end, it would only bring more good than bad.

"Very well, but don't push yourself, all right? Your fever barely broke, I don't want you getting it back because you played until exhaustion."

"I know, don't worry. I'll be careful."

Somehow, the dark haired male could not help but doubt a little. Flynn always pushed himself to his limits whenever he played, especially when pouring his emotions onto the piano. The writer merely needed to remember the numerous time his lover entered a composing frenzy, barely eating and sleeping for days. Still, Yuri kept quiet.

Slowly, the blonde slipped out of his bed, body shaking all over. It was visible how the man had lost considerable weight, almost to the point of being all skin and bone. He almost did not eat in the last few days, his sleep was feverish and his sickness ate away at all his energy. It was a wonder as to how the man had not snapped in two yet.

The raven haired male watched his lover carefully, nibbling at his lower lip at the pitiful sight and also making sure to be ready to catch the other if he fell. In the end, the musician managed to keep his balance and walk by himself, already exiting the bedroom slowly, making his way to his study. And once he sat on the piano bench, it was as though a heavy weight was lifted from his shoulders.

He already seemed less tired and his back straightened up with renewed strength. The smile that also painted his lips as he brushed his fingers against the keys was simply breathtaking. Yuri found himself staring with relief and with a twinge of sadness. He could now say for certain that music being vital to his lover was an understatement – it meant everything.

Two hours went by and Flynn had yet to leave his spot, playing and playing as Yuri never heard before. He could not tear his eyes from the closeness displayed a few feet away, feeling a little jealous, but understanding that the musician still held secrets he was unable to share with the long haired male just yet.

The melodies were heart wrenching, reflecting the blonde's state of soul because of how much had happened in so little time. His sickness, Liszt's betrayal... Each music was played dramatically and it was done with such intimacy that Yuri almost felt as though he were intruding. He found himself listening from beginning to end, unable to put his attention somewhere else despite his discomfort.

The pianist finally came to a stop, exhaling deeply in contentment. It was evident that, regardless of the fatigue, he was feeling much better, almost as if he were rested for the first time in days. His emotional distress and exhaustion, while surely still present, must be less painful. Maybe now that everything was told, Flynn would sleep better at night.

Yuri was certain that his lover was finally finished, but the latter surprised the raven haired male by taking out one of his sheet music that was neatly stocked in his pile of papers. It was not hard for the writer to guess which one it was either, even if he could not read the title from afar; he had seen it far too much in the past year and a half, it being the only piece of music he ever tried to play and still was trying.

"Come here," Flynn probed with a smile, sliding on the bench and tapping the new free spot next to him. "I haven't heard you play in a while. I want to hear your progress."

The dark haired male doubted he had made any improvement in a while, considering the fact he barely got the time to practice in the last month. In spite of that, he rose from his seat and installed himself on the bench, happy to now be part of the bubble the blonde created around himself in the past hours.

"Are you sure you're in any condition to be giving piano lessons?" Yuri pointed out.

He was no fool; it was impossible for the pianist to simply sit and listen when he could help out and give tips.

Flynn chuckled, nodding.

"I'm fine. I feel revived, somewhat. It's like I have a boost of energy, so might as well use it wittingly. Now play, please."

Some nervousness built up in the pit of the writer's stomach. He was used playing both alone and with his lover's presence nearby, but at that very moment, Yuri wished to impress Flynn, to show the latter amelioration, and that implied making as less mistakes as possible. Despite his good will, however, once his fingers lowered the white keys, it was as though they tangled together, making the melody a cacophony of sounds.

Well, so much for impressing.

"Okay, stop," Flynn ordered after not even thirty seconds of playing, a huge smile cracking his lips.

The writer realised that his lover actually was amused, so the former pouted, looking away.

"I don't want you to play perfectly, so stop trying to impress me. Just play as you normally would. It'll be far more beautiful that way," the pianist advised, his smile only growing at the sulking.

"How did you..." Yuri started, but did not finish upon seeing the other roll his eyes.

"Please, Yuri, you're not the first student I'm having, and you're certainly not the first who wants to prove themselves to me. But I don't want that, it's useless. You'll impress me far more by showing me what you're capable of and how you've progressed."

Yuri's pout did not disappear yet, but he knew that Flynn was right. So the writer tried again, this time making sure to only think about what he had learned up until now. His playing was sloppy, that was for certain, but he was able to play from beginning until end, and the melody was starting to resemble what it should sound like instead of being a dissonance.

"You've gotten better," Flynn praised. "You're steadier with your fingers and, with a little more practice, you'll be able to play some parts by heart. This is helpful to mastering a piece, since it gives you the opportunity to play without having to always refer yourself to the sheets," he explained. "Also, now that you're steadier, it's important to think of playing with your fingers crooked, rounded, instead of keeping them flat on the keys. Just like that."

As he spoke, the musician lowered the keys with strong and rounded fingers, proving his point.

"It'll give you more strength. Which is also why you should learn this piece by heart, since you'll be able to watch your techniques more closely."

The pianist kept giving tips so that Yuri could play better, the latter finding them useful. Once Flynn was done, he asked his lover to play the music a second time. This time, the blonde interrupted the long haired male frequently, pointing out where his advices could apply. In the end, despite the numerous mistakes, Yuri found it easier to play. Flynn was an amazing teacher, which was an undeniable fact.

"You're doing really well, considering the fact that you didn't pick the easiest music to learn," the musician congratulated with a smile.

His expression then turned pensive.

"Though I must say I always was curious as to why you never wanted to play anything else," he admitted, looking puzzled.

Yuri looked down, a little embarrassed now that he thought over the reason of his choice. He did not know if he wanted to share this information with Flynn, wanting to have secrets of his own, but he knew that the more he shared with the other, the more trust would be put to their relationship.

"I can't really explain it. The first time I heard you play, it drew me in. I loved it, loved how sad and sorrowful, yet resigned it sounded. You always seemed to put more emotions in this one than you ever did your other pieces, even if it must be unnoticeable to most people. I just..."

The more he spoke, putting words to the feelings this particular music brought him, the more the writer seemed to realise what exactly it all meant. With the information he had gained over the past year spent with Flynn, it was as though he collected enough to solve a good part of the puzzle.

"Flynn, did you write this because of me?"

His voice felt distant, almost as if he did not want to hear the actual answer, fearing it. And when Yuri lifted his head towards the blonde, the former's heart only beat faster at the sight. His lover was completely silent, at a loss for words, eyes shining with an indescribable emotion. It was the same expression he harbored every time he was about to reveal something of the long haired man's past.

His hunch had been a good one.

"You did, didn't you? This was... your goodbye. Because I left."

How horrible. It was all the more revolting that he could not remember a thing. How must have Flynn felt when Yuri came back into his life, with no memories whatsoever? Liszt did mention that the pianist had been tormented. It was sickening how the writer brought only pain.

"Maybe I did," the blonde uttered carefully, gazing back at his lover. "But that's in the past now and I'd rather it stay there. You're back now, Yuri, and it's all that count."

He tentatively smiled and grabbed the long haired man's hand, squeezing it gently.

"I don't want to speak about that. I'm tired now. I'll go back to bed."

He released Yuri's hand and moved to get up, but the writer stopped him before he could, sealing their lips together in a loving kiss. There had been this ardent _pain_ in the musician's eyes, the latter clearly reminiscing about the past despite his words, slowly drowning in the memories the raven haired male could not recall. Yuri could not let Flynn close himself and suffocate under the pressure of those hurtful remembrances.

"I love you," the writer whispered once he pulled away.

It was embarrassing, but he knew that it was what his lover needed to hear the most at this particular moment. Flynn's eyes shone with surprise, but his features melted for reassurance and he grabbed Yuri in his arms, kissing the latter's forehead.

"Thank you, Yuri," he whispered.

* * *

Two months were gone in the blink of an eye, and despite Yuri's strong wishes for Flynn's health to turn to the better, Lady Luck decided to play against him. The blonde's condition only worsened, his body wracked with more coughing than ever before, blood occasionally accompanying them, slowly but surely becoming more frequent. It was frightening to see the usually strong and cheerful man being sapped from his life at such a quick pace, and Yuri could not help but fear that the worst would happen sooner than later.

Flynn barely left the house anymore, only going out from time to time with Yuri to take a walk when he felt strong enough. He stopped giving his lessons, stopped going to his salons, and refused any kind of invitation. He was in no shape to go to any of those anyhow. He did accept a few contracts to compose songs, much to the writer's displease, but the pianist needed a distraction and they also needed money if they wanted to survive and keep their home. Besides, the piano was certainly the only thing left that managed to give the man a little needed strength.

One particular day, Yuri went out to go visit Karol, leaving the pianist to his labour. The latter was feeling a little better since the last few days and had been up longer, working through most of the days to come up with a new song. The writer was thankful for such respite, hoping a little to see improvement like this every day, but knowing full well that he should not wish as such and be torn apart in the end.

The raven haired male had not planned to stay to his little friend's place for long, too worried about his lover. However, rain suddenly poured down, a deep contrast with the nice weather they had been braced with up until now. Karol's parents suggested Yuri stay until the downpour was over, and the writer reluctantly accepted their offer, worryingly gazing outside each second, wondering how Flynn was faring. The man could well be choking on his blood at the moment and be in need of assistance. Yuri suddenly felt bad for coming...

When it was apparent that the rain would not stop in intensity, the long haired man sighed and thanked his hosts before exiting outside, plunging under the heavy drops of water. In less than a minute, he was drenched completely, already feeling ice cold. The worst part was that even if he ran, he would not be home until a good twenty to thirty minutes. He could always hail a cart, but he would not be able to until he reached the next neighbourhood and, at that point, it would not make much of a difference anymore.

He arrived to the house drenched and entered to the sound of music. At first, Yuri did not pay much attention to it, glad to hear that Flynn was all right, and feeling disgusted at the clothes sticking to his body, sapping him of his warmth. But then, as he removed his shoes and socks, reaching for the bathroom to twist his hair above the sink to drain the water off it, he listened to the melody more closely, realising that this was not something he heard before. Not only that, but it was deprived of any of the usual mistakes the pianist made when he composed.

Confused, the writer decided to quickly put water above the fire to boil it for the bath before he made his way to the study. When he entered, he was surprised to see how well Flynn currently was playing. It felt normal, almost just like when he performed before he fell so sick. The melody was gentle, comforting and sad at the same time. The notes echoed lightly, the keys being barely touched, and for a moment, Yuri thought he heard the raindrops from outside. It felt as though the musician conveyed those drops in his imagination and melody like tears falling from the sky onto his heart[1].

The writer was even more puzzled and he took a few more steps. It seemed that his lover had not felt his presence, so he called out his name in a soft voice. Surprisingly, the other man did not respond, his fingers continuing their course. Frowning in worry, the dark haired male covered the last distance left between the two and placed a hand on the other's shoulder to get his attention.

The latter started violently, cutting the music abruptly, finally looking up. What Yuri saw did not please him and he pursed his lips as he examined his lover's face. The latter's eyes were distant, faraway, and he certainly was unaware of most things surrounding him. His cheeks were flushed, indicating the high fever that induced him to be in such state. What stunned the long haired man, however, were the tears slowly falling on his lover's cheeks, his features relaxed with tranquility.

"Yuri, you're all right," Flynn whispered, lifting his hands to cup the writer's face.

A weak smile graced his lips. The writer blinked, confused. He was worried about those tears, but he could not understand why there was barely any sorrow. Was the pianist so out of it?

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, caressing the other's hair and removing a few golden locks from the sticky and warm forehead, wiping away the droplets in a tender gesture. "Flynn, why are you crying? What happened?" Yuri whispered soothingly, attempting to make out what the problem could be.

"I know I was home, but then I thought... I thought I saw you run through the rain, getting completely drenched. You were running back home, but then, you almost got hit by a cart..."

Yuri started, staring at the other with shock. How... how on Earth could Flynn have known that? The long haired man certainly was not near the house when it happened and the fact that the pianist was not wet proved that he did not go outside at all since Yuri left. Then how...?

"Maybe I'm dead. Maybe that's why I could see. Does this mean you're dead too? Oh no, I don't want that... but then again, if I get to spend eternity with you..."

"What? Wait, no! Flynn, none of us are dead!"

The blonde's fever was really high, so it explained as to why the man seemed so out of it. It did not explain, however how he could relate the dark haired male's almost accident.

"It was just a dream, nothing else. You don't have to worry over it. Nothing happened; I'm safe and you're still with me." Flynn nodded. Then, his hands still in their position brought his lover's face down to seal their lips. Yuri kissed back gently and carefully.[2]

When they pulled apart, the musician looked up with a sad smile.

"Hey, Yuri? Can I ask you a question?" he suddenly asked.

The long haired man gave his approval, curious.

"I know you told me not to worry about it, but I can't. Why have you been out so much lately? Why do you come to see me less often? Are you avoiding me?"

Yuri frowned in incomprehension.

"Huh? What do you mean, Flynn? I'm not going out that much. Sure, I went to see Karol today, but..."

"Who's that?"

Yuri stopped dead in his speech and his brain worked furiously. Those two words actually meant a lot, if he thought them over. Flynn was not lucid, at the moment. It could very well mean that he was not currently in the present, but trapped in a past event with temporary loss of his memories. It was best if the writer put his lover to bed, to help reduce the fever. But first, it might be a good idea to both take a bath, what with having boiled water already.

"Ah, a friend of mine. Look, I'm sorry I went out so much without telling you, but I promise I'm not avoiding you. I also won't do it again. Now let's go take a bath and then go to bed. You're feverish, so it'd be best to retire early."

The pianist's eyes went wide before he frowned slightly.

"We can't do that, Yuri. What if we're caught?" he whispered with anxiety and the writer had to think hard to understand what the other actually meant.

He then realised that, back then, the blonde surely must have still be living with his parents. It made sense.

"It's alright, no one else is at home. They won't be back until much later. We can take advantage of this," Yuri stated, playing along.

It was easier than trying to make his fever induced lover understand that he was disillusioned.

"Now come. I need to remove those wet clothes before I catch a cold and a warm bath will be much appreciated."

They made their way to the bathroom and the raven haired male left the other inside before going to the kitchen to put out the fire and grab the now hot water. He poured it in the tub, then quickly grabbed night clothes for the both of them in their bedrooms. It might be only late afternoon, but Yuri wanted to simply snuggle his lover and fall asleep.

Once he came back, they waited for the water to cool off a little before they stripped, Yuri not wanting Flynn's temperature to rise. They washed in silence, the long haired man appreciating the warmth, hoping that his cold skin could serve as a benefactor to the other's fever.

Half an hour later, they were changed and inside the bedroom, Flynn already under the covers while Yuri tucked him in. He needed to take care of a few more things before he could join the pianist. The former kissed his lover on the forehead, ready to leave, but was stopped by a hand catching his wrist.

"Yuri? I know you find this embarrassing, but could you sing that song I heard you sing the other day? It truly was beautiful."

The writer opened his mouth, but quickly closed it, unable to utter a single word. What could he say? That he did not know it anymore? In his state, Flynn would not understand and, somehow, Yuri had this hunch it was best not to derive from the musician's disillusions.

But then, as he parted his lips for the second time, lyrics he had not believed he would ever be able to remember flooded from his tongue, his voice vibrant and low. They felt so very familiar that he did not hesitate on a single word as he sang softly, surprised that he could at all sing.

And as he chanted, Yuri could not help but understand the irony of it all, continuing to wonder what exactly he did to leave Flynn once before and hurt the man so deeply.

_O fare you well, I must be gone_

_And leave you for a while:_

_But wherever I go, I will return,_

_If I go ten thousand mile, my dear,_

_If I go ten thousand mile._

_Ten thousand miles it is so far_

_To leave me here alone,_

_Whilst I may lie, lament and cry,_

_And you will not hear my moan, my dear,_

_And you will not hear my moan._

_The crow that is so black, my dear,_

_Shall change his colour white;_

_And if ever I prove false to thee,_

_The day shall turn to night, my dear,_

_The day shall turn to night._

_O don't you see that milk-white dove_

_A-sitting on yonder tree,_

_Lamenting for her own true love,_

_As I lament for thee, my dear,_

_As I lament for thee._

_The river never will run dry,_

_Nor the rocks melt with the sun;_

_And I'll never prove false to the girl I love_

_Till all these things be done, my dear,_

_Till all these things be done.[_3]

* * *

The house was eerily quiet once Yuri came inside, returning from some necessary shopping. There was, of course, the chance that Flynn might be sleeping, explaining the lack of sound, but the long haired man could not shake off this feeling of unease. His lover had been feeling slightly better that morning – compared to a week before, his fever so high he could not discern present and past – and had planned to work on finishing his contract of the moment. The music he had been playing back then when the writer returned from Karol's place, despite being a spur-of-the-moment, still was engraved in the composer's mind, and so he worked on writing it down the minute he was feeling better.

_Gouttes de pluie_, it would apparently be , at the moment, the writer could not distinguish a single musical droplet and he worried that maybe the musician collapsed because of a sudden relapse.

Dread building up in the pit of his stomach, Yuri quickly got rid of his boots and light coat before darting inside, leaving his bags at the entrance. He first checked the bedroom, but when he spotted the neatly made bed with no signs whatsoever of anyone getting under the covers since morning, the writer's stomach made a flip. Where was Flynn and why was it so quiet? The raven haired male returned in the hall and quickly made his way to the study, hoping dearly that the worst was not what would be welcoming him once he pushed the door open.

The writer did find his lover sitting at his desk, collapsed against it, arms under his head. At first, Yuri immediately jumped to conclusions, his heart stopping as he strode to the blonde. But then, as he got to take a better look, he realised that the pianist was merely asleep, breathing regularly enough and face completely peaceful. Breathing a sigh of relief, the dark haired man chuckled without humour, realising how less and less time he got left with the other. It was not even exaggerated to say that each minute Yuri went out counted.

He was about to wake his lover in order to prompt the latter to go to bed instead, but the former's eyes were caught with a sheet of paper lying under the blonde's head. Curious, suddenly realising that the sheet was not containing musical notes, Yuri took a better look, reading the words displayed.

_Dear Ludwika,_

_I apologize for the lack of news lately. Stating that I have been busy would be an excuse that I would not want to bore you with. It might also be some sort of a lie, actually. You know, sister, I miss you a lot. We haven't seen each other in what... years? We do send each other news from time to time, but it is not enough. [____I wanted to know if you could maybe visit. I need to see you.] You know, [two months ago, I learned that I was]__ there is something that I want to tell you, something important. _

The letter stopped there, still unfinished, Flynn surely having fallen asleep as he thought of what to write next. When Yuri looked further onto the desk, he suddenly realised that there were a lot of crumpled papers lying atop, and when he looked to the trash can on the floor, he saw that it was almost filled with the same kind of furiously scrunched pellets. It was clear from the sight as to what the pianist's intensions were: he wanted to break the bad news to his older sister, but did not know how, nor did he feel like inviting her over even when it was what he needed.

Smiling sadly, the long haired male silently searched through the papers, looking for something in particular. He managed to find a small envelope ready to contain whatever letter the musician would maybe have felt like sending, and Yuri smiled triumphantly. He watched his lover still sleeping soundly, but refrained from waking the man this time. He would do so when he would be finished with the new task he had graced himself upon.

Getting to his room, the writer installed himself on his own small desk, pushing away the messy and disordered stuff above to make himself some space, and began scratching on a blank sheet with his inked quill immediately. He wrote to Ludwika, asking her kindly to come over and visit her brother who much needed her in these difficult times, careful not to divulge what exactly was plaguing the pianist.

When he was finished, Yuri signed with his penname as a habit, not realising he did so even after he folded the sheet and inserted it in a blank envelope lying somewhere on his desk. He wrote down the address before putting the letter under a book. He would leave it there until Victoria came and would give it to the girl to send it to the post office.

Grabbing Flynn's envelope, Yuri returned to the study and was relieved to see the blonde still sound asleep. Making sure to be as silent as possible, the writer placed the object he was holding back in its initial place. Then, when he was certain everything was back in place, he gently shook his lover's shoulder, calling the latter's name. The pianist started awake, looking up at Yuri a little confusedly.

"Hey, sleepyhead," the dark haired male greeted with a light smirk. "Don't you think your bed would be a better place to sleep?"

Flynn rubbed his eyes slowly, yawning, coughing a little.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," he mumbled, before reaching up for a kiss.

Yuri gladly answered sweetly.

"I'm certain you didn't mean to, but I think it would still be best you go rest in your bed. You look exhausted."

When the raven haired male saw the other about to protest, the former cut the latter immediately.

"How about I make us some soup before. You can wait in the kitchen while I cook and we can eat together in the dining room. Then, it's off to bed for you so that you can recuperate. You've worked hard enough for today."

With a sigh, Flynn complied with the deal. Besides, the pianist was not too unhappy, glad to be able to eat his lover's delicious food and spend time with him.

"Alright, then. Let me clean up my desk and I'll be with you in the kitchen," the blonde stated.

Yuri nodded, knowing that he was not supposed to have read the letter still on the desk. He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought, but then again, he knew that what he did was for the best. In the end, Flynn would only be glad to be able to see his sister.

"Great. Hurry up, then. I'll be making you your favourite."

* * *

Yuri received an answer to his letter a week later as Victoria handed him the many papers that belonged to both Flynn and him. The long haired man was glad to be the one collecting these, knowing that the blonde would have easily recognized Ludwika's handwriting. The writer wanted the woman's visit to be a surprise, after all. He also did not know how the pianist would take it if it was announced to him, considering the way he was so hesitant in sending a letter of his own. Yuri knew for a fact that Flynn never did finish his message in the end.

The musician's sister expressed in her response how glad she was that news had been sent to her. That was when the raven haired male realised by which name he signed, seeing the Sand name displayed on the paper. He wondered if such mistake was a good thing, not knowing how much Ludwika knew about what happened between the two lovers.

Yuri learnt that the woman would be visiting by the end of June, stating that she would arrive as soon as she could, considering the circumstances, and thanking her interlocutor for telling her that her brother needed her. Apparently, she knew that the blonde would not be the type to ask for her in times of hardship. It brought a sad smile to the writer's lips as he finished reading, hoping very much he was doing the right thing.

The month was nearing its end when, one day, a knock resounded inside the house during mid-afternoon. Yuri was occupied making dinner while Flynn was sitting at the kitchen table, reading his lover's latest book – he was not feeling well to work, but enough to be up and about, at the very least. The pianist raised his head with a quizzical expression, wondering as to who could be visiting when they expected no one. Since Liszt had been thrown away from their lives, barely anyone came anymore.

Apparently, the man went on tour around Europe, certainly avoiding France.

"I'm in a bit of a bind," Yuri stated, showing his floury hands. "Think you're well enough to go check who it is?"

Flynn rolled his eyes, clearly a little annoyed to be babied as such. Of course, the dark haired male knew that his lover was fine for now, but he could not help but worry a lot, considering all the relapse the pianist got lately, worsening every time.

The blonde stood up slowly, his legs shaking a bit, and the writer bit his lower lip discreetly at the sight. He did not say anything more, however, understanding that he needed to give the other some space about his sickness.

Yuri could not see, but he heard pretty well when the entrance's door was opened and Flynn's voice came up.

"L-Ludwika?"

It sounded stunned, disbelieving. The raven haired male smiled a little, knowing that his lover would be glad by the surprise visit.

He would soon learn that he was a little wrong about such a fact.

"Oh, Frederic! Goodness, look at you!" a female voice exclaimed, words spoken in Polish instead of French.

Thankfully, Yuri could understand clearly. Wanting to at least greet his lover's sister and thank her for her visit, the writer cleaned his hands quickly before walking towards the entrance, already hearing the pianist speak up once more.

"What are you doing here? You never warned me you were coming!"

That was strange. It almost seemed like there was an edge of panic inside the blonde's voice.

"Your friend George wrote to me because he was worried about you and knew you wouldn't send me anything. I thought he would tell you, but maybe he thought it would be best to keep the surprise. You have a very good friend, Frederic," she answered with a sweet smile.

The siblings turned their heads when they heard steps coming their way, one of them wearing an expression of horror.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I wanted. Welcome, Ludwika. Thanks for answering my letter and coming so fast," Yuri said with a light smile, lying nonchalantly against the door's threshold linking the hall and the dining room.

The gentleness gracing Ludwika's features fell immediately at the newcomer's sight, instead twisting in pure outrage, leaving the writer confused. The next thing the latter knew, his cheek was burning painfully after a particularly strong slap, his head twisted to the side, his vision temporarily blanking at the sheer force.

He was forced to look down, however, when she grabbed his loose strands tightly, pulling on them. She was almost snarling, her eyes glaring murderously, enough to have killed the other man at least a hundred times if that were possible.

"_You!_" she spat. "_You_ wrote to me?! You _dared_ write to me, knowing full well what you've done before? How _dare_ you?! Did you think I would not recognize you when I would come, because it's been so many years since I've last seen you?!" she almost shrieked to the top of her lungs, her face now red with fury. "Well I've got some news for you. I would remember your damn pretty little face even in Hell, which is, by the way, the place you should be in at the moment," she spat through her teeth in a very low tone, more frightening than any yelling she could have done.

Yuri found himself gulping, shocked by the display, completely speechless.

"Ludwika, please…" Flynn softly exclaimed in a desperate voice, but he was cut off harshly by the woman turning her glare on him.

"Do not ask me to be silent, Frederic!" she declared, hard and matter-of fact, leaving no place for arguments. "And have you lost your mind?! What is he doing here?" she shouted, releasing the other's hair, gesturing pointedly at the latter to emphasize her words. "How could you let him stay here? He hurt you, Frederic, _abandoned_ you! Do you not remember how broken, how shattered and desperately hurt you were?"

The pianist stubbornly looked away, pursing his lips, eyes shining painfully. Yuri, still as dumbstruck as before, merely watched the exchange silently, dread slowly building up inside. He knew he broke Flynn before, judging by Liszt's words, but hearing it from the blonde's sister was far worst.

It proved how of a jerk he truly had been, and that merely was an understatement.

"Well, if you don't remember, then let me tell you this: _I_ do! _I _remember how lifeless you'd become. I also remember you telling me how exactly he left you in such a state."

"Ludwika," Flynn called out pleadingly, as a way to make her stop.

She did not listen.

"He came to you, he took your heart and pretended he could take care of it, pretended to love you deeply so that you could fall head over heels for him. And then, when you were the most vulnerable, he tore you apart and threw you as if you were a piece of trash, without even a reason as to why. But that's not the best part!" she continued her rant, not caring that her brother did not want to hear any of it.

She surely thought she was doing him a favor.

"Ludwika!" the pianist exclaimed louder, eyes holding both anger and anguish.

She kept ignoring him.

"You overheard him explain the reason to Izabella! Apparently, it was a mistake. He wanted nothing to do with you, wanted you to disappear from his life and wanted to forget everything that happened with you. But I bet that was a lie and that he enjoyed hurting you as he did. And now what, you're letting him do that a second time?!"

"_LUDWIKA!_"

Flynn's yell finally sent his sister into silence as he breathed irregularly, hot tears slowly streaking down his face. The woman held the musician's gaze, not proud of hurting her sibling, but not regretting what she did either. It was only normal that she did not want her little brother to fall in the same cycle yet again. Right now, however, the blonde was incredibly mad at her for saying such things, especially in front of...

When he looked up, Flynn was struck with confusion and pain as he saw only neutrality displayed on the writer's face. It was obvious how fake this was, that Yuri had put on a mask to look strong when he was surely crumbling inside. To learn what he did after not remembering a thing... The pianist just hoped that this exchange had not been enough for the long haired man to remember everything.

"Heh... I think I'd better leave you two alone," Yuri stated with a smirk that was nothing but fake, fake, _fake_.

Flynn wanted to rip it off his lover's face, punch him for the lack of a better reaction.

Ludwika whirled around, slapping the raven haired male a second time before the musician could stop her.

"You'll do better than that. You'll leave this house right now and never come back."

The writer's smirk disappeared as he held his cheek, avoiding their gazes, knowing very well that she was right. His heart was throbbing painfully at the mere thought of what he could have done in the past, hating himself for still not remembering despite what he learnt. He could not stay here, not if he brought so much suffering to the man he loved deeply.

And so he made his way to his shoes, ready to leave, his hand already on the doorknob, but his other wrist was suddenly caught and he made the mistake of looking back. Flynn was staring at him pleadingly, fear and anguish written all over his features.

"Don't leave me, Yuri. You said you would stay and amend."

Hesitancy flickered in the grey orbs.

"You promised."

He did indeed. Yuri promised he would not leave anymore. He also knew for a fact that the blonde would not be able to take it if the former left for good. So the writer released the knob, turning to his lover, but the moment Ludwika realised what was going on, she grabbed her brother and placed herself between the two, her expression towards the long haired man dark and threatening.

"Leave."

It was an order not to be argued. For now, it would be best to go away and let the tension subdue. Yuri would... come back later.

That is, if Ludwika did not manage to make Flynn understand what was best for him.

The last thing the writer heard was his name being called out imploringly, but he ignored it to the best of his capabilities as he closed his eyes and shut the door behind him, stepping down the stairs leading to the entrance. He was at least thankful for the fact it did not rain despite the dark heavy clouds looming low in the sky.

As he roamed aimlessly through the streets, barely looking up at the rare passersby considering the bad weather, depressing thoughts kept running through his mind. Yuri kept wondering what could have happened before he lost his memories. More than that: he kept cursing his stupid brain for not even being able to recall anything when it mattered the most now.

Why was it that he was still not allowed to remember? Would it not be best in the pianist's times of need so that the long haired man could understand everything better and have a real opinion of things? Or was he truly such a deceitful man that having back his memories would bring back another self, causing his love for Flynn to disappear?

The sole thought scared him shitless and Yuri shuttered, which was not caused by the slightly cold wind. He wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing until he regained some sort of comforting warmth, even if it was not really the case. He felt... dirty, disgusting. Hurting Flynn, wounding him like the writer did was unforgivable. The latter did not deserve to be at his lover's side, not after what he did, even if he could not remember.

How much more pain must have Yuri brought when he was found by Flynn and accepted to stay with him? How much more suffering must it have caused the musician to know that not only he was thrown away, but he was forgotten? That last part might not have been the raven haired male's fault, but he could not listen to reason and believe that.

"Flynn... Why did you keep me with you?" Yuri murmured, looking up.

The answer was simple, however: love could do many things. What the writer could not grasp was why the blonde kept his love when he was hurt as such? But then again, considering the way the dark haired male felt right now, he would find it hard not to cherish the pianist deeply, even if he was sullied.

Then how could the Yuri now feel as such and the Yuri from then not? What had changed? Why have two different personalities? It did not make any sense, but then again, not having a history could change a person. The experiences were not the same anymore after all.

With a sigh, the writer let his feet guide him wherever they wanted, feeling like wandering around was best for now. He did not want to stop anywhere, even if he was getting a little hungry. He thought vaguely that he had thankfully not started any fire back in the kitchen and put the Dutch oven to the hearth.

The raven haired male did curse himself, however, when he realised exactly where his subconscious led him as he did not pay any attention to his surroundings. Stopping abruptly, he looked up at Flynn's house, the building standing proudly and even almost menacingly.

In his examination, the writer noticed Ludwika's figure in the window, drawing the curtains to a close, but stopping as her eyes fell on his as she looked down. A scowl appeared on her features and they stared at each other for a long while before she drew the curtains in a strong movement. Yuri averted his gaze, biting his bottom lip. He knew he should be going, but then again, he did promise Flynn.

He had not yet moved when he heard the door entrance open. When he looked up for the second time, he saw the pianist's sister coming down the stairs, glaring at him severely.

"I thought I told you to leave," she told in a harsh tone.

The long haired man carefully slipped on his mask of neutrality. It was best if he did not give away what he felt at the moment and see how things went.

"You did," he answered calmly.

"Then why are you still here?"

Somehow, the threat in her voice was less biting than previously. She was obviously upset about something, and Yuri did not have difficulties imagining what it could be. The two siblings had been alone for a while, after all.

"You already know the answer to that. It's for the same reason why you came down here when you could've just ignored me. It's not like I was getting in the house and you know it."

The dark haired male shrugged, looking to the side. Deep down, even if she did not want to admit it, she _knew_. She knew how Flynn needed Yuri, how separating the both of them would be fatal.

"He's... dying, isn't he? He wouldn't tell me, but every fibre of his skin screamed it."

Her voice was soft and low now, deep hurt lacing it. Who would not be suffering upon learning that their second sibling would leave far too early for their time?

"He is. Look, Ludwika, this may sound like an excuse, but I have no idea what happened before. Whatever I was, whatever I did, that's not me anymore. Flynn means more to me than you could ever imagine. And right now, the only thing he needs is _me_. I promised him I would stay, and if you continue to keep us apart, that'll only kill him faster."

The mask was slowly slipping, Yuri growing restless and becoming more desperate by the second. He wanted to see his lover, watch over him and make sure that he was all right for now. All this emotional stress was bound to take its toll on his body.

Ludwika huffed, crossing her arms on her chest.

"You're right. It is an excuse," she declared, harsh. "For all I know, you could be trying to seduce him a second time to whisper in his ear how this was all a lie yet again the minute he draws his last breath! You could be playing to hurt him at his most vulnerable moment!" she exclaimed with outrage.

The writer averted his eyes in growing anger, clenching and unclenching his hands to attempt to calm himself. He was tired to be treated as such. He somehow understood where the resentment came from, but it annoyed him to hell considering the fact that it was not him anymore – if it ever was since he did not know the details, after all.

"What exactly do you take me for?!" he almost yelled, losing his patience. "Do I look like someone who wants to break his heart just before he... he... Do I seem that heartless to you?! If I really did not care, I wouldn't be giving a damn about how sick he is. I wouldn't be treasuring him the way I am! I wouldn't have returned here when you told me to leave!"

Yuri was breathing hard. He could not care what anyone thought anymore. He would stay with Flynn, no matter what, and no one, _no one_, would stand in their way.

"I wouldn't be ready to shout to the world how I love him! _J'aime Flynn, d'accord_?![4]"

His outburst caused the passersby already curious by the almost violent exchange to startle and cry out in shock and outrage at the words they understood. Of course, screaming aloud in a crowded place that you loved a man certainly was not the best thing to do, but Yuri did not give a damn. He never belonged here in the first place; he merely was here because of Flynn.

He ignored the weird and scornful looks thrown at him, keeping his eyes on Ludwika who was as shocked as anyone else. At least, she was not as judging.

The long haired man calmed and his brows furrowed in desperation.

"If I really wanted to hurt him, why would I go to such lengths to prove you otherwise? Don't you think it doesn't make any sense?" he whispered loud enough for her to hear.

She was now hesitant. Mistrusting, but hesitant.

"Then why? Why did you break his heart like you did before?"

Yuri sighed in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I don't know, okay? I have no idea whatsoever and, trust me, I hate myself for it. The more I learn, the less I think I deserve to be by his side. But I know he needs me the most, so I won't leave him, even if you're in the way."

The writer lifted his determined gaze, testifying the fact that she would certainly not be the one to stop him.

She sighed, biting her lower lip as she turned her gaze away. Silence settled between the two for a while, but when it was too palpable that Yuri felt the need to break it, she did before him.

"As much as I hate to admit it, my little brother truly needs you," Ludwika finally agreed, shaking her head as though she could not believe her own words. "He tried desperately to explain to me the last year you two spent together, even if it only made me angrier. So despite the fact that I still believe you're up to no good, it doesn't matter at this point. If you can make him happy in his remaining time, then be my guest. But if I learn that anything bad is happening because of you, trust me, I will hunt you down until I can make you pay tenfold what you did."

She was completely serious and, frankly, Yuri would not have it any other way. He had no way of knowing if his other self could pop up at any random moment, so he would rather someone watch him closely before he could do something he would regret, like hurting Flynn.

"I know. Thanks."

Ludwika gestured him to climb the stairs. Her attitude was a little more open, but she was still reluctant towards him.

"Come on, go in. He might be asleep, but I guess it would be best for you to be by his side. I'll finish the dinner you were preparing."

Yuri thanked her before quickly going up three steps at a time, already feeling all the worry for his lover building up inside. The raven haired male hoped that the pianist did not have a strong relapse, especially since he had been alone for a little while. Once inside, the writer quickly got rid of his shoes and strode to the blonde's bedroom, entering it slowly after a soft knock on the door. He did not want to wake the other up if he ever was asleep, but Yuri at least wanted to make his presence known if it was not the case.

"Yuri..."

The voice was low and hoarse and, as the long haired man approached, he realised how drawn the other looked. Never before did the musician appear so sick. It was heartbreaking, especially knowing how Flynn must have been worried to have been left alone for the rest of his shortened life. The writer's heart ached as he sat on the bed, caressing his lover's golden locks once so shining and now so drab.

"Hey, you're awake. You should be sleeping, you know," Yuri murmured with gentleness.

The blonde slowly shook his head.

"Too scared you wouldn't come back," he mumbled through evident exhaustion, his eyelids seeming too heavy to hold up.

The dark haired male's heart skipped a beat and he closed his eyes tightly in regret. He soon berated himself for it, however. He came back, after all, and right now, he needed to take care of Flynn.

"I'm here. I promised you, didn't I?" Yuri replied with a small smile.

A smile of Flynn's own appeared on his lips and he closed his eyes slowly.

"You did," he agreed softly, but did not add anything else.

For a little while, the writer believed his lover to finally be asleep, but he was surprised with the next words that flew out of the pianist's mouth.

"Yuri, I'll tell you everything tomorrow."

Yuri's eyes grew wide and he was shocked speechless. He attempted to process the words and reply something, but nothing came in mind at all. This information simply had come out of nowhere!

"Flynn, you don't have to do that. You don't have to force yourself, I already told you that," the writer answered uneasiness in his eyes.

However, the musician could not see since his eyes were still closed.

"You're wrong, Yuri. I have to. I don't want you to live in the dark any longer. You deserve to know, especially after what you learnt today," Flynn stated tiredly.

Yuri opened his mouth to say something, but closed it instead, unable to do it.

"All right," he agreed in a soft tone.

He leaned down and stole a loving kiss from his lover.

"Now go to sleep, you more than need it."

As the long haired man watched the other fall into Morpheus' arms, the former caressing the blonde strands, he thought over their discussion. If someone told Yuri a year ago how he would not want to hear about his past ever again, he would have laughed in their face.

But now, the mere thought sent waves of anxiety in his heart. He feared that if he discovered everything, he would return to the person he once was and hurt Flynn deeply. It was so scary!

But if Flynn needed to empty his chest with their past events, then Yuri would have no choice but to listen. Somehow, the pianist's health was at stake as well. The less pressure he kept on himself, the less he would fall prey to his sickness.

With a sigh, Yuri shook his head. Why did it have to be so hard?

* * *

[1] This was a description coming from one of George Sand's writing. This is how she felt _Goutte de pluie_ came out as.

[2] Before you say anything about this weird scene, I have to tell you that this actually happened O.o I swear! George Sand wrote about it in her journal. Apparently, she'd been out in the heavy rain with a friend, trying to get back home, and they almost got hit by a cart. When they arrived home, Chopin was playing this very song and admitted seeing Sand having that almost accident. Weird, huh?

[3] This song is an old English song called _The True Lover's Farewell_

[4] And here I cite with glee from Wikipedia "**1791** – Revolutionary France (and Andorra) adopts a new penal code which no longer criminalizes sodomy. France thus becomes the first West European country to decriminalize homosexual acts between consenting adults." So yeah, I'm pretty certain it's badly seen, but no one's going to report Yuri ^^

Edit: parts in the letter written to Ludwika are framed like this.. This were parts that were crossed out in the letter. They were supposed to be, but it seems that FFN doesn't accept that function from Word *rolls eyes*

* * *

**A/N:** That's it! It's finally coming! Next chapter, you're finally going to know what happened in the past. Why did Yuri leave, why did he break Flynn in such a way, saying that he wanted him to disappear from his life? Stay tuned for _Farewell - ninth movement_!

Lol, Great advertisement there. More seriously though, I hope you're getting excited ;p Though this means there is only two chapters left... It's making me kinda sad ._.

I hope you've enjoyed, so tell me what you thought! And an eternal thank you to those who always take time to review, it always makes my day!

See ya!


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